Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin
by DrizzleWizzle
Summary: (2/7) The Heir of Slytherin stalks the halls of Hogwarts, and suspicions have turned toward Harry Potter. Harry is certain that he is not the Heir. He'd remember if he were petrifying students... right? But why is Harry's best friend, Draco Malfoy, so excited to discover that he can talk to snakes? A/U, Slytherin!Harry. Sequel to HP and the Slytherin Selection.
1. Chapter 1

In many ways, Harry's summer with his Aunt and Uncle had been full of firsts. Harry, at Hagrid's suggestion, hadn't told the Dursleys that he was forbidden to use magic outside of school. Thus, it was the first summer that Harry had slept in a bedroom, the first summer that Dudley hadn't actively bullied Harry, and the first summer that Harry hadn't been expected to do every chore in the house. In one way, however, Harry's summer was remarkably typical: Harry found himself locked in his room on his birthday.

Vernon Dursley was hosting an important dinner party on Harry's birthday. In the week before the party, Harry's uncle had spent most of his time either strutting or storming around the house. While strutting, Vernon boasted about his inevitable success. While storming, Vernon yelled at Harry for attempting to sabotage the dinner party. Harry had no such plans… although, in retrospect, sabotaging the party sounded like a rather fine idea. No, the party turned into a fiasco through no fault of Harry's.

Harry was sent to his room as soon as Vernon's guests arrived. Vernon warned Harry not to make a sound, and Harry had no problem complying. Harry had big plans this evening: he was going to sit and brood. It was his birthday, and he hadn't gotten a single gift or card from Draco or Pansy or Hagrid or… anybody. Not for his birthday. Not all summer. It was as if his friends had forgotten him. Or maybe they weren't really friends, after all.

Harry had sent of Hedwig out with letters to his friends several times each week, but she always came back with empty claws. In fact, if it weren't for Hedwig, Harry might have started to believe that Hogwarts didn't really exist and that the whole previous year had been a dream.

As Harry sat down at his desk, preparing for a long night of wallowing in self-pity, he heard a soft *pop* behind him. He turned and discovered a strange creature standing on his bed. It had bat-ears, bulbous eyes and a disproportionately large head. The thing appeared to be wearing an old potato sack… although it might have been a pillowcase… maybe.

"Er, hello?"

"Hello, great Harry Potter! Dobby is so pleased to meet you!"

Whatever this thing was, it seemed friendly, but rather loud. Harry a finger to his lips. "Shh. Be quiet, or you'll get me in trouble." Harry spoke in a whisper, worried that his voice would carry downstairs and interrupt the party.

"Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter," Dobby whispered. Dobby curled his small hand into a fist and began punching himself in the face. "Dobby will be quiet, Dobby will be quiet," he whispered with each impact.

"I said be quiet!" hissed Harry. The sound of Dobby's fist hitting his face was almost as loud as Dobby's voice.

"But Dobby must punish himself if Dobby is bad," the creature whispered, continuing to punch itself in the face.

"Well, stop," Harry said. "You've done enough." Dobby immediately stopped punching himself. Harry realized that the creature, whatever it was, was responding to his direct commands. "Explain who you are and what you're doing in my room." Harry said.

The elf responded instantly. "Dobby is Dobby, Harry Potter. Dobby is a house elf."

"What's a house elf?"

Dobby gestured to himself. "House elves work for wizards. House elves clean and cook and do laundry and all sorts of chores. We does whatever our masters tell us."

"And did your master tell you to come here?"

Dobby shook his head. "Dobby will have to put his ears in the oven for even speaking to Harry Potter. But Dobby has come to warn Harry Potter, sir."

"Tell me what you've come to warn me about."

"There is a plot to harm Harry Potter. Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts," Dobby said.

"Actually, yes, I must," Harry said. "Term starts at the beginning of September, plot or no plot."

"But there is a plot, Harry Potter! A plot!" The elf's voice was rising again. Harry held his hands out, palms down, and made shushing sounds. The elf nodded and brought his voice lower. "There is a plot to do evil at Hogwarts. If Harry Potter returns to Hogwarts, Harry Potter will be in peril. Harry Potter must remain safe."

"I doubt I will be in peril," Harry said. "Dumbledore's the most powerful wizard alive, and he will be at Hogwarts. In fact, just go tell Dumbledore. He'll take care of it."

"Dobby cannot speak ill of certain wizards," the elf said. "Dobby cannot reveal secrets. Dobby cannot tell anyone about the plot."

Harry had been involved in many strange conversations since he discovered that he was a wizard, but this conversation was by far the strangest. "Dobby, you just told me."

Dobby's eyes went wide. "Then Dobby must punish himself." Dobby lowered his head and broke into a full sprint, charging at Harry's bedroom wall. Harry tried to grab the elf, but he was too late. Dobby crashed into the wall, letting out a yelp of pain.

Downstairs, conversation came to a sudden halt.

"I'll go see what's fallen," said the muffled voice of Harry's Aunt Petunia. Harry could hear her light footsteps coming up the stairs. Dobby stood and prepared to charge at the wall a second time, but before he could run forward, Harry grabbed him by the pillowcase and tossed him under the bed.

"Stay quiet," Harry whispered.

The door to Harry's room burst open. Petunia stuck her foxlike face through the door. "I don't know what you're doing, but stop it. If you ruin the punch line of Vernon's Japanese golfer joke, you won't eat for a week."

Harry nodded. Petunia glanced around the room one last time, then returned downstairs.

Dobby crawled out from under the bed. "Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter."

"You're forgiven," Harry said, distracted by thoughts of dinner, which suddenly seemed very far out of reach.

Great tears welled up in Dobby's eyes. "Harry Potter is a great wizard, forgiving Dobby so easily! Why would Harry Potter want to return to Hogwarts and be in danger? Harry Potter can stay home!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Not on your life. It's miserable here."

"It will be miserable at Hogwarts for Harry Potter. All his friends have forgotten him. They do not even send him mail."

"Dobby, how do you know that I haven't been getting my post?"

Dobby hunched downward, seeming to shrink in on himself. "Dobby doesn't…"

"No. You know something." Harry took a deep breath, trying to master his temper. "Tell me how you know that I haven't been getting letters from my friends."

The elf began wringing his hands frantically. "Dobby thought that, if Harry Potter thought his friends had him, that Harry Potter would not return to Hogwarts…"

"You've been intercepting my post!?"

"Dobby has all the letters, Harry Potter, sir." With a small pop, a bundle of letters appeared next to the house elf.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Give me my post."

"Dobby will give Harry Potter his letters if Harry Potter will agree to stay home from Hogwarts."

"No. You have no right keep those letters from me. Give them over."

Dobby shook his head. "Harry Potter leaves Dobby no choice."

Harry dove at the elf, snatching at both Dobby and his post. The elf (and letters) disappeared with a crack, and reappeared behind Harry. Dobby opened Harry's bedroom door and ran down the stairs. Harry, horrified, dashed after the elf.

When Harry reached the bottom of the stairs, there was no sign of Dobby. In the sitting room, Vernon was finishing his joke about the Japanese golfer. As he told the punch line, there was a burst of uproarious laughter… from Petunia. Harry used the noise to cover his footsteps and he snuck past the sitting room and into the kitchen.

Harry found Dobby standing on the counter, arms outstretched. Hovering in the middle of the room was the enormous pudding that Petunia had prepared for Vernon's guests.

"Dobby, put that down," Harry whispered.

"Promise," said Dobby.

"Fine," said Harry. "I promise I won't go back to Hogwarts." A promise that Harry had no intention of keeping.

"Thank you, Harry Potter. But Dobby cannot take any chances." Dobby thrust his hands forward in a pushing motion. The pudding rocketed out of the kitchen, across the hall and into the sitting room, where it struck the fireplace mantle and detonated in an explosion of frosting.

Harry glared at Dobby. The elf smiled sadly, and threw Harry the bundle of letters. Before Harry could say anything, the elf disappeared with a crack.

Then Vernon and Petunia Dursley walked in.

Yes, Harry's summer was surprisingly typical. Once again, he found himself on the receiving end of Vernon's firey anger and Petunia's cutting remarks. Once again, Harry was locked in his room. Once again, Harry was blamed for the misdeeds of another. Granted, this time it was the misdeeds of a bizarre house elf named Dobby, rather than the misdeeds of Harry's rhinoceros-like cousin Dudley, but the result was the same.

Harry remained locked in his room for two days. The door to Harry's room was opened exactly four times: twice for food and water, once to provide Harry with a chamber pot, and a once time to deliver a letter from the Ministry of Magic, which was hovering next to Vernon's head and rather insistently tapping against his temple. When Harry opened the letter, he discovered that he was receiving his first official warning for Underage Use of Magic.

While locked in his room, the Dursleys provided Harry with minimal food, which was frustrating. The Dursleys also provided Harry with minimal human contact, which was more of a blessing. Harry used the time to practice his wand motions and magical incantations, using an unsharpened pencil so as not violate (again) the Ministry's underage magic prohibition. He had already received one warning, and he wasn't planning on getting another. Stupid house elf.

Harry wasn't overly upset about his confinement. He knew that it wouldn't be long before Draco and Mr. Malfoy arrived to take him away from the Dursleys. At the end of term, Harry and Draco had arranged for Harry to spend almost half the summer with the Malfoys. Harry had neglected to inform the Dursleys of these plans, trusting Mr. Malfoy to set things right upon his arrival. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, Harry thought. Mr. Malfoy was scheduled to pick up Harry three days after Harry's birthday.

That day was today.

Harry was shoving the last of his belongings into his trunk when he heard a muffled "pop" from the front of the house.

"Petunia! What did you break now?" roared Vernon Dursley.

Before Harry's Aunt Petunia could answer, there was a knock on the front door. Harry could hear his Uncle Vernon grumbling as he lumbered from the sitting room to the foyer.

"We don't want any of your vacuums," Vernon bellowed immediately after opening the door.

Harry strained to hear the reply. He could recognize Mr. Malfoy's voice, but the words were too soft to understand.

"Come for Harry? That boy is upstairs, and that's where he will stay."

Mr. Malfoy spoke again, this time with a slight edge in his voice.

"Oh, you're one of those rotters. He's never going back to that school again. You and your lot have been nothing but a nuisance, and England would be better off without you. Good day."

Harry heard a whip-like crack and a large thump. Harry could see it in his mind: his Uncle Vernon, who had been a boxer fifteen years and fifty pounds ago, punching out Mr. Malfoy and tossing his limp body onto the lawn. Suddenly, Harry's failure to inform the Dursleys of his plans seemed like a terrible idea.

Harry heard footsteps on the stairs. Two sets of footsteps—one heavy, one light. His Aunt and Uncle, coming to exact some horrible punishment. Harry backed away from the door.

There was a click as his door unlocked. Harry climbed onto his bed, pushing himself as far away from the door as possible.

The door swung open, revealing Draco and Mr. Malfoy.

"Harry!"

"Draco?"

"Come along, boys. Let us remove ourselves from this filthy hovel." Mr. Malfoy turned and began walking down the stairs. Draco picked up Hedwig's cage and followed, leaving Harry to haul his trunk.

When Harry arrived at the bottom of the stairs, he was treated to an amazing sight: Vernon Dursley, frozen in place, hanging upside-down from the chandelier in the foyer.

"How'd you do that?" asked Harry.

"Petrificus Totalus," replied Mr. Malfoy, "followed by Levicorpus. Generally, I would simply hoist the oaf out of the way, but I could no longer stand the blubbering sound of his voice." Mr. Malfoy ushered the boys out of the house and turned to Vernon Dursley.

"These spells would wear off in about an hour," said Mr. Malfoy. "I could leave you until then. But I think terminating them now will be rather more… satisfying. _Finite Incantatem_."

Vernon's petrification ended at the same time as his levitation. The chandelier, suddenly discovering itself attached to 300 pounds of screaming Dursley, came crashing down from the ceiling. The chandelier (and Vernon) landed in a heap on the front rug. Vernon lay still, taking deep heaving breaths like an exhausted walrus. Plaster drifted down from the hole in the ceiling, covering him with a fine powder.

Draco and Harry looked on with astonishment. With a small smile, Mr. Malfoy turned away from the Dursley residence and began walking toward the street.

"Yes, that was rather more satisfying," he said softly to himself. Harry agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Malfoy brought to boys to Malfoy Manor by side-along apparition. Harry had known that Draco came from money, but was still unprepared for the size of the house and the grounds.

"This is… huge." Harry said.

"It's home," replied Draco casually. "Come on, let's get some lunch and then we'll play Quidditch!"

Harry sighed. "I don't have a broom."

"Harry we have _tons_ of brooms. You can use one of my old brooms until you get your own."

As the three wizards stepped inside the mansion, Harry stopped dead in his tracks. Years of living at Number Four, Privet Drive had taught Harry that nice things were not to be walked upon, sat upon, breathed upon, touched, or looked at. Harry could tell at a glance that even the smallest afterthought of an accent piece in the Malfoy Manor was more expensive than the greatest showpiece at the Durselys' residence.

With a nod to the boys, Mr. Malfoy disappeared up the stairs. Draco strode into the parlor.

"Dobby! We need lunch!" Draco shouted into the open air.

With a crack, the house elf appeared, presenting Draco with two trays of food: sandwiches on one, freshly cut fruits and vegetables on the other. The elf set both trays on a side table and, saying nothing, disappeared with another crack. Draco grabbed a sandwich and dropped into a massive armchair.

"What was that?" Harry asked, finally coming to his senses.

"Oh, that's Dobby, our house elf." Draco said. "Dobby keeps the place clean and makes the majority of the food. Any proper wizarding family has a house elf."

"Sure, fine. But why was he at my Aunt and Uncle's last week, trying to convince me not to go to Hogwarts?"

"Dobby, visiting you? That's impossible," Draco said confidently. "Dobby never leaves the grounds of Malfoy Manor. It's part of his house elf contract. He'd punish himself very painfully if he ever left without permission."

"Then it was definitely him," said Harry. "He spent half the time banging his head against the wall or punching himself."

Draco shook his head. "There's no way. House elves don't have the willpower to violate their contract so flagrantly. They're a lower order of magical creatures. It must have been some other elf."

"I don't think so," said Harry. "Maybe we should ask your dad. Is there any way he could check?"

"We are _not_ going to mention this to my father," Draco said emphaticlaly. "Trust me. Father doesn't want to be bothered with any silliness. The idea that Dobby left the house on his own is just absurd. It really must have been some other elf."

Harry decided to drop the subject. Whether it had been Dobby or another elf, Harry was headed back to Hogwarts, and that was all that mattered. Harry took a sandwich and began to eat.

After lunch, Harry and Draco went onto the grounds to play Quidditch. Malfoy Manor had a regulation-size pitch with professional rings. The pitch even featured a small grandstand, that looked as if it could seat fifteen or twenty spectators. At the top of the grandstand was one luxury box with a small but expensive-looking table.

Harry took one of Draco's spare brooms, and together the boys floated into the middle of the pitch, casually tossing a quaffle between them.

"Father had it installed so I could practice," Draco said. "Father was a member of the house Quidditch team at Hogwarts, and expects that I will join the team this year."

Harry nodded. "Do you get to play much?"

Draco shrugged. "Crabbe and Goyle and I play occasionally, but they're destined to be beaters. No real skill flying, and they can barely catch a quaffle, let alone a snitch." Draco smiled. "Now that you're here, we can really fly."

"What position do you want to play?" asked Harry, throwing the quaffle to Draco.

"Seeker, of course. Father was a seeker, and I will be, too. The seeker is any quidditch team's best player. Fastest flier, best eyes, best hands. That's where the glory is." Draco's return throw to Harry was a little low. Instead of reaching down, or floating lower on his broom, Harry did a barrel roll. He caught the quaffle upside-down, then quickly righted himself.

Draco frowned, but immediately replaced his frown with a smile. "The way you fly, Harry, you'll make a great chaser. If a team's chasers are good, the opposing seeker only has ten or fifteen minutes to catch the snitch before the game is out of reach. It puts a lot of pressure on the other team."

Harry laughed. "Right, like I'll make the team."

Draco laughed as well. "I have a feeling we both will."

The rest of the summer passed like a dream. Harry could hardly believe that he was free of the Dursleys for the remainder of his holiday. Staying with the Malfoys was wonderful. Draco's father gave the boys plenty of space to enjoy themselves during the holiday, while Draco's mother would periodically give them some close and loving attention. Harry felt like he was part of a real family. It wasn't quite as wonderful as he had felt when he initially discovered that he was a wizard… but it was close.

As the start of the fall term approached, Harry and Draco both received owls from Hogwarts with their lists of required books and supplies. Mr. Malfoy arranged to take the boys to Diagon Alley. Harry was terribly excited; his first trip to Diagon Alley was, at the time, the greatest day of his life, and a second trip with his best friend seemed to be an amazing prospect.

Harry was not disappointed. Diagon Alley with the Malfoys was much different from Diagon Alley with Hagrid. Hagrid had been distracted; retrieving the Philosopher's Stone was an enormous responsibility for the Hogwarts gamekeeper, and his preoccupation had prevented Harry from truly reveling in the _wonder_ of Diagon Alley.

Draco and Mr. Malfoy, however, strolled down Diagon Alley as if they owned the entire street. This was closer to the truth than Harry knew—Draco later told Harry that Mr. Malfoy was a significant investor in several of the shops in Diagon Alley. The three wizards ate a leisurely lunch at a small café and stopped at Fontescue's Ice Cream parlor for dessert before truly getting down to business.

After having Harry and Draco measured for new robes at Madam Malkin's, Mr. Malfoy took the boys down a side street that Harry had never before noticed.

"This is Knockturn Alley," Draco said. "The shops down here are far more interesting than anything on the main thoroughfare."

Harry was astonished that any place could be _more_ interesting than Diagon Alley. He followed Draco into a shop whose sign did not specify the nature of the product sold, but instead displayed only the names of the owners: Borgin and Burke's. Mr. Malfoy admonished the boys not to touch anything, and then began speaking to the store owner. Harry and Draco were fascinated by the strange and mysterious items that lined the shelves, and Harry carefully minded Mr. Malfoy's admonition that nothing be touched. Harry could only hear snatches of the conversation between Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Borgin.

"…Ministry raids… Muggle Protection Act… Weasley…"

"…wouldn't presume…"

"…of course, you understand… certain potions…"

Harry lost interest as the two adults began haggling. Like Draco, he was much more interested in the Hand of Glory, as well as the purportedly cursed necklace. When Harry discovered _Comprehensive Curses_, he stopped browsing and became totally engrossed in reading. A short while later, Draco approached and began reading over his shoulder.

"Done." Mr. Malfoy straightened from the counter. "I will expect you at the manor tomorrow to pick up the goods. Draco, Harry, come along."

The trio left Knockturn Alley and resumed school shopping. As they approached Flourish and Blotts, Harry noticed a large banner hanging across the storefront.

"Gilderoy Lockhart…" The name sounded familiar to Harry. "Wasn't that Pansy's cake from last year?"

"He's a wizard celebrity," said Draco. "Trapped or killed a bunch of dark creatures, then wrote books about it. Witches think he's good looking."

Mr. Malfoy nodded. "He's the type of person you might want to meet, Harry. His fame gives him a great amount of influence in the wizarding world."

"But the line is so long," Harry said. Draco and Mr. Malfoy both laughed.

"Harry," said Mr. Malfoy, "You don't have to wait in line."

Mr. Malfoy was right. A quick word with the proprietor of Flourish and Blotts, mentioning "Potter" and "Malfoy," and suddenly Harry found himself at the front of the line, being introduced to Gilderoy Lockhart.

Gilderoy was tall, with dusty blond hair and perfect teeth. He was otherwise indescribable, at least in flattering terms. Words like "arrogant," or "pompous," or "self-aggrandizing" came to mind, but Harry kept those thoughts to himself. Instead, Harry let himself be drawn forward into a handshake.

"I'm pleased to meet you," Harry said.

Gilderoy looked over Harry's head, however, and began speaking to the cluster of reporters that surrounded them. "Not only will Harry be receiving a complementary collection of my books, including my new autobiography, _Magical Me_-" As Gilderoy said this, he slid a stack of books toward Harry. "-but Harry will also be receiving his very own actual magical me. Yes, this fall I will be teaching at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy, in the illustrious position of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

At least that explained the book list for Defense, which was comprised entirely of Lockhart's paperbacks.

Harry felt Lockhart's arm go around his shoulder. The older man spoke in a whisper. "Smile, Harry, and we'll make the front page."

Flashbulbs began going off in rapid succession. Harry was caught between Lockhart and Mr. Malfoy, with no avenue of escape. A few paces away, Draco was scowling at the trio. Harry leaned over and grabbed Draco's arm, dragging him into the photos, as well. Draco seemed pleased by Harry's action, even though Harry had mostly meant to share his misery.

After the clamor had died down, Harry walked toward the front of the book shop, hands full of his new collection of Gilderoy Lockhart's books.

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?"

Harry looked up and saw Ronald Weasley. Harry frowned but said nothing, and continued toward the front of the store.

"And you get free books," said Weasley. "Like you need them, hanging out with Malfoy and his lot."

"What's wrong with Malfoy?" asked Harry with an edge in his voice.

"He's so slimy. Then again, he is in Slytherin."

Harry wasn't sure why Weasley was being so nasty—they had left school on fairly good terms—but Harry wasn't going to take any more of his crap. "Say that again, Weasley, and we'll see what happens." Harry shifted his books into one hand and reached for his wand.

Weasley rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by a cheerful male voice.

"There you are, Ronald. Run into a friend from school, have you?"

An older pair of redheads who could only be Ron's mother and father appeared behind the young Gryffindor. Their clothing was garish, by Muggle standards, but seemed rather plain and threadbare compared to the wardrobe of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Behind Mr. and Mrs. Weasley was a small girl with fiery red hair. Seeing Harry, she squeaked and ducked behind her mother's skirt.

Ron's father strode forward and extended his hand. "Harry Potter? Pleased to meet you, I'm Arthur Weasley."

Harry replaced his wand in his pocket and reached forward to shake Arthur's hand. If there was one thing that being friends with Draco had taught him, it was how to keep up appearances, no matter how little you liked somebody (or somebody's son). "Pleased to meet you, as well," Harry said.

Arthur smiled. "Years ago, Harry, I knew-"

A drawling voice cut Arthur off. "Arthur. I've always told myself that Harry needed direction, so that he wouldn't fall in with the wrong sorts of wizards." Lucius came up behind Harry and placed a hand on his shoulder. "He was only out of my sight a few moments."

Arthur's smile disappeared. "I wouldn't have thought that Harry would fall in with the wrong sorts of wizards so quickly, either, Lucius." Mr. Weasley nearly spat out the name. "And I think we all know who the wrong sorts of wizards are."

Despite the thinly-veiled insult, Draco's father allowed no reaction to show on his face. "Is this the youngest of your brood hiding behind you, Arthur? I was under the impression that you had stopped having children—couldn't afford them on your pay scale." Arthur Weasley began turning red. Harry could see his hands clenching into fists.

Lucius stepped forward and pulled several tattered books out of the young girl's cauldron. "Used books? You must not be getting overtime for all those raids you are conducting."

The girl stepped forward and grabbed at the books. "Give them back," she demanded.

Lucius smiled. "Quite the firebrand," he said. "A Gryffindor, through and through."

Lucius looked down at the girl. "Let me give you a gift, little lion." Reaching into the deep pockets of his robe, Lucius pulled out a large coin. "Treat yourself to something today. Your opportunities to do so will be few and far in between." Lucius dumped the pile of books and coin into the girl's cauldron.

Arthur stepped forward. "We don't want anything from your kind, Malfoy."

Lucius ignored him. "Come along, boys." Lucius strode out of the store, followed by Draco.

As Harry passed Ron Weasley, he overheard the Gryffindor muttering to himself. Something about "everything is rubbish." Harry quickly turned to the readheaded boy and thrust out the books that Lockhart had given him.

"Here," Harry said. "I don't need these. Take them."

Ron looked up, face turning red like his father's. "Didn't you hear? We don't want your handouts. Come on, Ginny." Ron grabbed his sister's arm and pulled her away.

Harry smiled as he walked out of the store. It was so easy to bait the Gryffindors. Sometimes, it happened even when you didn't mean it to.

Draco and Harry followed Mr. Malfoy across Diagon Alley and through the door of Quality Quidditch Supplies. Harry was looking at the brooms, calculating how much money he had left and which broom he could best afford. Going into his second year, Harry would be allowed to take a broom to school for quidditch tryouts. He started at the new brooms, but soon moved on to last year's models, and then the year before. Finally, Harry selected a used Cleansweep and brought it to the counter.

"Harry, that Cleansweep won't get you anywhere." Mr. Malfoy pushed the Cleansweep to the side and placed a pair of new Nimbus 2001 brooms on the counter. "You must have a Nimbus, like Draco."

Harry looked down at the small amount of money in his hands. "But, Mr. Malfoy, I can't…"

"Put your money away. You and Draco are trying out for the Slytherin quidditch team this year, and I am going to ensure that you have the best possible chance of success."

Harry's jaw dropped in shock. One new Nimbus cost more than all the day's other purchases combined. It was so generous, and after Harry had thought that his friends had forgotten him for an entire summer, it was just too much.

Harry barely hesitated before surging forward and hugging Draco's father. Mr. Malfoy was astonished by the gesture; not knowing what else to do, he patted the back of Harry's head.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. That's the nicest thing that anybody has ever done for me."

From several steps away came Draco's voice. "Yes, Father. Thank you very much."

* * *

**A/N****:** _There are a lot of things I enjoy about Book 2. Having Vernon hung from the chandelier in Chapter 1 is one of the highlights. I was pleased to see that so many readers enjoyed it as well._

_In this chapter, we finally get to see the first interplay among Lucius, Draco and Harry. In canon, Draco is obviously driven by his relationship with his father. Things are no different here, but Draco may find himself driven in different ways._


	3. Chapter 3

Harry's second Sorting Feast was much more enjoyable than his first. Instead of nervously wondering where (or if) he belonged, Harry was comfortably seated between Pansy and Draco at the Slytherin table. The Sorting Hat delivered its usual message, listing the assorted qualities valued by the different houses. Along with the other Slytherins, Harry cheered for each first year that was sent to their table.

"Weasley, Ginevra," was among the last to be sorted. Her four brothers smiled proudly as the redhead trotted to the front of the hall.

A thought occurred to Harry, which put a small smile on his face. "Wouldn't it be a riot if she were sorted into Slytherin?" he said to Draco and Pansy. "Think of the looks on the rest of the Wesleys' faces."

"Don't be vulgar," Draco said. "She's a Weasley, so she's a Gryffindor."

"But what if she's cunning and clever and ambitious?"

Draco scoffed. "She wouldn't be sorted into our house if she were the reincarnation of Salazar Slytherin himself."

The Sorting Hat was placed on the small girl's head. It sat silently for a moment. Harry remembered his conversation with the Sorting Hat—it had tried to place him in every house except Slytherin. (Well, not Ravenclaw. Some things were never meant to be.) Harry was jerked out of his reverie as the Sorting Hat bellowed…

"… GRYFFINDOR!"

"Good," said Pansy. "Tragedy averted."

Harry turned to Pansy. "I didn't know you cared so much about the Weasleys' feelings," he teased.

"Please. Can you even imagine, a Weasley in Slytherin? There'd be no hand-me-downs for her, because everything her family owns is red and gold. And that hair!" Pansy took out her wand and transfigured some spaghetti noodles. They went from dull yellow to bright orange/red. Pansy lifted the pasta and held it next to her head. "Can you imagine anything worse with green robes?"

Most of the Slytherin second years burst into laughter. Harry chuckled, as he was expected to do, but mentioning hand-me-downs had reminded Harry of wearing Dudley's oversized muggle clothing for most of his childhood. He hoped that Ginny hadn't been forced to do the same. Poor thing.

After dinner, Harry sat in the common room with a book open on his lap. Harry was half-listening to Professor Snape's introductory speech to the first years. Just like last year, Snape posed a question to the new students, and demanded an answer from each of them. This year's question was different, however.

"Tell me," Snape demanded, "what is success?"

The first years began to respond in small voices.

"Getting rich."

"Winning."

"Being powerful."

"Fame."

Harry was surprised by how many of the answers were the same as last year's. The question was interesting, though. Slytherin was supposed to be about ambition. What was it that Harry wanted, really?

"Mr. Potter."

Harry snapped to attention. Professor Snape had turned to him, and all the first years were staring at his forehead.

"Yes, Professor?"

"While many of the answers given by our first year students are true, for a certain value of success, perhaps you could offer us greater insight. What is success?"

"Success is getting what you want," Harry said.

Snape nodded. "Well put, Mr. Potter. 5 points to Slytherin." Snape turned back to the first years. "Your responses named particular things that individuals desire. Success, however, is unique to each person. To have success, in Slytherin and elsewhere, you must first know what _you_ want. Only then can you take the steps necessary to achieve your ambitions." Professor Snape gave a cold smile. "And if you know what _others_ want… you can use that knowledge to bend them to your will."

As Professor Snape launched into the "Slytherin Unity" portion of his speech, a voice spoke next to Harry.

"Good answer. How'd you know?"

Harry turned and found Tracey Davis sitting sideways in a chair near him. Her calves and feet dangled over one armrest, and her head was propped up against the other. She was smaller than most of the other girls in their year. Harry knew that many of the member so fhis house found Tracey to be strange, but Harry thought she was just quiet, for the most part.

"I didn't know, really," said Harry. "Slytherin is supposed to be about ambition, but I'm not sure what I really want, yet. I didn't have a specific answer, so I just answered generally."

Davis nodded. "It was very clever. Let me know if you ever want to break into the Ravenclaw common room."

"What?"

"There's not a password," Davis said. "You just have to answer a riddle. Only Ravenclaws can do it with any regularity."

"Who told you that?"

"I overheard Cho Chang talking about it. She's in Ravenclaw."

"That doesn't seem secure," Harry said. "Anybody could get in, if they're lucky."

"And anybody could get into our common room if they got the password. They aren't that hard to guess; half of them are snake-themed, anyway."

Harry smiled. "If we didn't have the password theme, we might forget that our house animal is a snake," he said facetiously. Harry gestured around the common room, where snakes were used copiously and conspicuously in decoration: paintings, carvings, stairway bannisters, and even the upholstery print on one chair. "Oh. Wait."

Davis laughed. "Anyway, I'm serious. If you want to break into the Ravenclaw common room one night, just let me know. I think we'd stand a good chance."

"You and I? Maybe. But we have to leave Crabbe and Goyle behind—they won't be solving any riddles. Ever."

Professor Snape's voice cut across the common room. "Potter, Davis!"

"Yes, sir?"

"Show the first year students to their dormitories."

Harry and Tracey got up and walked over to the first years. After Harry collected the boys, as he was leading them to their dormitory, he glanced over his shoulder. Tracey was at the opposite end of the common room, leading the group of first year girls. She looked back at Harry and gave him a quick smile. Harry waved back, then turned to show the first years where they would be sleeping.

*!*!*!*

The majority of Slytherin attended quidditch tryouts. Those who were not attempting to make the team were watching from the stands. Most of the students walked down to the pitch together, where last year's team members were already waiting in full uniform.

Draco and Pansy were chatting on the way to the pitch. Draco's flailing arms seemed to be demonstrating a complicated quidditch maneuver. Based on Pansy's overenthusiastic laughter, it seemed that she didn't understand anything about quidditch, but understood quite a lot about boys.

"Good luck, Harry," said a quiet voice from his side. Harry looked over and saw Tracey Davis walking beside him.

"Thanks," Harry said.

Davis nodded and walked quickly away without saying more.

The Slytherin team had one spot open for certain. There would be a second spot open if the Flint, the team captain, wanted a dedicated reserve player. Around twenty students were competing for those spots, but Draco seemed supremely confident that both he and Harry would make the team. Before tryouts began, Draco pulled Flint aside and the two had a quick discussion. Harry walked over to listen in, but the conversation was over before he could reach them.

Tryouts began with speed flying, followed by maneuverability and formations. Harry was surprised at the poor flying displayed by most of the tryouts; several were unable to lean into their turns, which was devastating to both speed and maneuverability. Harry and Draco were easily among the top five fliers. The first round of cuts eliminated half of the tryouts. Crabbe and Goyle were among those eliminated, but Draco and Harry moved on.

Next came ball handling. Players shot a quaffle, threw passes to both stationary and moving players, and caught quaffles while stationary and on the fly. No cuts followed the ball handling drills, but it was obvious that Harry and Draco were still among the top tryouts.

Beater skills were next—the tryout players took turns striking bludgers at each other and defending another player. Because Harry and Draco were the youngest players, they were also the smallest. Their beater skills suffered considerably as a result. Both Harry and Draco were below average at striking, but exceptional at defending; their flying allowed them to easily get in position to protect a player. Again, Flint eliminated no players.

Keeper tryouts were last—potential keepers defended against shots from both the tryouts and the returning players. Miles Bletchley, last year's keeper, had not graduated, so there were few keeper tryouts. Draco scored on more attempts than Harry, largely because Draco had more experience and better fake shots. Bletchley was a clear winner among the keepers, and he knew it, judging by his large smile at the end of his flight.

Flint told the tryout players to take a break. During the break, the returning players discussed the performance of the tryouts. Harry was too far away to hear what was said, but the discussion quickly became animated. Montague, one of the returning players, threw up his hands and began yelling at Flint. Harry couldn't understand what he was saying, but he obviously wasn't happy. Eventually, Montague quieted down, but his body language showed that he was anything but calm. Flint left the returning players and walked over to address the tryouts.

"Okay, here's my decision," said Flint. "Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy have made the team. All six players on last year's team are returning, but Montague is returning as a reserve." Montague was staring daggers at Harry and Draco.

Flint continued. "Everyone else, thank you for trying out. If you didn't make the team, get better. I'll see you next year. Until then, you're dismissed. Harry and Draco, stay behind for a team meeting."

Draco stepped forward and shook Flint's hand. "You made the right decision. You won't regret it."

Montague also stepped forward. "I can't believe you're doing this to me, Flint. This is rubbish."

Flint turned to Montague. "My job is to give Slytherin the best chance of winning the house cup. Our team is better with Potter and Malfoy and all seven of us flying Malfoy's Nimbus 2001s."

Montague was turning red. "You're letting them buy their way onto the team!"

Harry was stunned. Draco hadn't told him anything about this before tryouts.

Flint shook his head. "I was given an opportunity to improve the team, and I took it. Are you really going to stand there and say that the team would be better with all of us on Cleansweeps? The decision is made, and it won't change." Flint turned to the rest of the team. "Let's get up in the air and sort out positions. Malfoy, Potter, the two of you are up for seeker against Pucey. Get on your brooms."

"I'm the seeker," Malfoy said confidently.

"No," said the captain. "The best seeker is the seeker."

"But the brooms-" Malfoy began.

"The deal was that you and Potter make the team, and we get the brooms," said Flint. "You're on the team because you and your brooms give us a better chance to win. Winning is everything. If you were a garbage flier, Malfoy, I would have cut you _and_ your brooms in the first round, and I wouldn't have thought twice about it. You made the team, so you'll get to play, but you'll play where I tell you."

Malfoy scowled but said nothing.

Flint walked to the trunk full of Quidditch balls and opened it. Inside were several snitches.

"You'll fly against each other in pairs," Flint said. "You'll have two chances against each of the other seekers. Four chances each to catch the snitch. Whoever catches the snitch the most gets the job. Potter and Pucey, you're up first."

*!*!*!*

Later that night, Harry sat on a couch in the center of the Slytherin common room, unsuccessfully attempting to study. Pansy Parkinson sat close to Harry on the couch, lightly touching his arm. Across the room, Draco sat between Crabbe and Goyle, arms crossed, refusing to speak to anybody.

"I can't believe you caught all four snitches," Pansy said. "Tell me how you got them once more, then I'll let you study, I promise."

"It wasn't that big of a deal," Harry said.

"Harry, it's amazing!" Pansy said. "Last year you had never flown a broom, and this year you're our new seeker!"

Harry smiled a little. "I still can't believe it. It was so natural. It was like the snitch was trying to find me, instead of the other way around." Harry's feelings were mixed; he was excited to have made the team, and even more pleased that he earned his position instead of buying it. And the attention from Pansy was nice… but Harry still felt bad for his best friend. Harry knew how much Draco had wanted to be seeker, just like his father.

Conversation in the common room quieted, then came to a halt. Harry looked around and found that his classmates were staring at him. Actually, not at him. Above and slightly behind him. Harry turned, and found Professor Snape standing behind the couch.

"Mr. Potter. I hear that you are our new Quidditch star."

"Er… yes, sir. I mean, I'm not sure, sir. I haven't even played a match yet."

Snape nodded. "Nevertheless, if even half the stories about this afternoon are true, I expect to find the Quidditch Cup in my office at the end of the year."

"Yes, sir."

Snape paused. "Did you know that your father played Quidditch when he was at Hogwarts? He was a chaser… for Gryffindor."

Harry's eyes widened. "No, I had never heard." Harry hadn't known that his father had been in Gryffindor, let alone a quidditch player.

"Your father was very skilled, and insufferable because of it. Please see that you do not allow yourself to be overcome by the same arrogance."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Carry on, Mr. Potter." Snape swept out of the room.

Across the room, Harry saw Tracey Davis walking quickly toward the girls' dormitory, eyes to the ground. Harry moved to wave to her, but Pansy's hand was still on his arm, and he couldn't raise it in time.

* * *

**A/N:** _Has there ever been a more obvious symbol than quidditch in the Harry Potter series? You mean there's a whole game (war) going on, and everybody is scrambling around, but none of that really matters, because the two seekers (Harry and Voldemort) are going to decide the whole game, anyway?_

_As a sportsman, I hate quidditch. Playing quidditch would be akin to playing a game of soccer while jerks on the sidelines throw lead weights at you. Meanwhile, two guys at the end of the field are going to run a sprint, and the winner's team gets 15 goals. But let's pretend like the rest of the game matters, right, mate?_

_What a terrible sport._

_As a literary critic… I guess I acknowledge that quidditch is an effective symbol. And, perhaps, the complete absurdity of quidditch is more than an unintentional display of Rowling's inability to construct a proper sport. Instead, it might be Rowling's attempt to reveal the wizarding world's eccentricity and lack of common sense._

_Or, more scathingly, quidditch might be Rowling's commentary upon real-life muggle sports, which she believes to be similarly absurd. I know that my wife would agree with that._


	4. Chapter 4

As the first Quidditch match of the year approached, tensions between Gryffindor and Slytherin began to escalate. Slytherins were already frequent targets of pranks by the Weasley twins, and those pranks grew more and more frequent. Ron Weasley and Draco sniped at each other during class and in the hallways—the two could hardly go to class without some sort of snarky exchange. Harry found himself coming to his best friend's defense more often than he would have liked.

Harry, Draco and the rest of the Slytherin team were on their way to the pitch for a special practice when they came across the Gryffindor team, already on the pitch and playing. Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's captain and keeper, landed his broom and addressed the Slytherin team.

"Oi, Flint, this is our practice time. I booked the field for today."

"Plenty of pitch for all of us, Wood." Flint held out a piece of paper. "Professor Snape specifically authorized our practice time."

As Wood read the note, the rest of the Gryffindor team began to land around him. Fred and George Weasley were the first to land, followed shortly by their younger brother Ron.

Wood finished reading. "Permission to practice to train a new chaser and seeker? Potter and Malfoy, I assume."

"That's right," said Flint. "And perhaps you've noticed Mr. Malfoy's generous gift to the Slytherin team." Flint held out his Nimbus 2001.

"They're new this year," said Draco. Any quidditch player would know the year's new brooms, but Draco enjoyed rubbing it in.

By this time, a few Gryffindor spectators had come down from the stands, Hermione Granger among them. She ran up to Ron.

"What's going on?" Granger asked.

"Everybody is admiring the new brooms that my father bought for Slytherin," said Malfoy. "Gryffindor is outclassed… but that's nothing new."

Ron's face grew dark red. Fred and George looked at their brooms, old Cleansweep Fives, clearly embarrassed.

Granger rolled her eyes. "At least nobody on Gryffindor needed their Daddy to buy them a spot on the team. Just weren't talented enough to make seeker on your own, were you, Malfoy?"

Draco scowled. "Nobody asked your opinion, you filthy little mudblood."

"You'll pay for that, Malfoy!" Ron reached into his robes for his wand.

Before Ron could cast a spell, Harry had his wand in his hand. "_Levicorpus!_"

Harry had learned the spell from Mr. Malfoy, and it worked perfectly. Ron was jerked into the air by his heel. On the way up, he dropped his wand. Fred and George Weasley pulled their wands and aimed them at Harry, but found Harry with his hands in the air, palms out.

"I'm going to put your brother down," said Harry. "Nobody got hurt. I'm sure we'd all rather be practicing than sitting in the hospital wing."

Harry lowered Ron to the ground, and Ron scrambled to grab his wand.

"It's still our pitch," said Wood.

"No," said Harry, "It's Slytherin's pitch. Maybe you should read Professor Snape's note again—it doesn't say anything about sharing."

Wood's eyes darted to the note, and growing wide with shock as he re-read Professor Snape's spikey handwriting.

"So…" said Harry. "Where's your note from McGonnegal, giving you the pitch?"

Wood said nothing. His hands clenched with fury, crumbling Professor Snape's note into a small ball.

"Don't have one?" asked Harry.

Wood's voice was quiet. "Plenty of pitch for all of us, right, Flint?"

"Plenty," said Flint. "We'll take the east end."

"West is fine with us," said Wood, turning away. "Come on, Gryffindor."

*!*!*!*!*

Harry was sitting with Pansy at the Halloween feast. Tracey Davis was sitting across the table Pansy, eating silently. Draco had earned himself a detention in Herbology, and was currently helping Professor Sprout re-pot mandrakes. He would be lucky to make it to the feast at all. Harry had been waiting all week to get away from Draco—he wanted to ask about what Draco had said to Granger on the quidditch pitch.

"Pansy, can I ask you about something? A wizard thing."

Pansy smiled. "Of course, Harry."

"Earlier this week, Ron Weasley got really upset with Draco. Draco was calling Granger names, and I think he called her something really nasty."

Pansy waved her hand in the air, dismissively. "Draco insulted Granger, and Weasley got mad. Nothing new about that."

"Weasley was angrier than I'd ever seen him," Harry said. "Draco called Granger a mudsomething."

Pansy sucked in air through her teeth. "Yes, that would do it."

"What's it mean?"

"Really, Harry? I know you were raised by muggles, but you weren't raised by wolves."

Harry shrugged, and Pansy sighed.

"There are three types of wizards: Purebloods, Half-Bloods, and Mudbloods," Pansy said, ticking them off on her fingers. "In Slytherin, we're almost all Purebloods, which means we have two magic parents who also had magical parents."

"So if you have four magical grandparents, then you're a pureblood?"

"Yes. Wizardry is hereditary, so when you have two magical parents who also had two magical parents, you're more likely to be a strong wizard. Draco and I are purebloods, for example, and we can trace our blood purity backwards for several generations." Pansy ticked off her second finger. "A half-blood is a catchall term for a wizard who isn't a pureblood, but still has at least one magical parent. You'll see the occasional half-blood in Slytherin—you, for example—but mostly they get sent to other houses."

"Wait." Harry held up his hands. "I'm a half-blood because my mother was muggleborn?"

"Correct."

"Why?"

Pansy looked uncomfortable. "It's just the way the terms work, Harry."

"Okay. So my children will be purebloods if…"

"Harry, you'll marry a pureblooded witch, just like any proper Slytherin wizard. Your children will have all-magical grandparents, so they will be purebloods." Pansy moved on to her third finger. "Finally, a mudblood has no magical parents. You'll see that in Hufflepuff. Mudblood magic comes from a grandparent or great-grandparent, so they aren't as good at magic. Got it?"

"I think so. Thanks, Pansy." Pansy's explanation seemed logical, but Harry couldn't figure out where Hermione Granger fit in—neither of her parents was magical, but she was best in their year. According to Pansy's explanation, that shouldn't be possible.

After the feast, as Harry was walking back to Slytherin, he found himself walking next to Tracey Davis. As always, her voice was quiet but intense.

"Harry, what you and Pansy were talking about at the feast…"

"You mean about pure bloods and-"

Davis cut him off. "Yes, that. You should know, the polite term for somebody with two non-magical parents is 'muggle born.' What Draco called Granger is a slur—one of the worst in the wizarding world."

Harry's eyes widened.

"Draco was saying that Granger has dirty blood—that she's worthy of contempt, and that if she has a child she'll befoul wizarding blood, generally. It's the worst thing you can call a muggle born wizard."

"Why would Draco…?" Harry knew that Draco didn't get along with Gryffindors, but this was worse than he had come to expect from his friend.

"Blood purity is very important in some circles. Circles that the Malfoys and the Parkinsons are involved in. Those types of wizards think that if you aren't a pureblood, you aren't anything. Did you notice how uncomfortable Pansy got when you asked why you were considered a half-blood?" Harry nodded. "It's because blood purists believe that a muggle-born wizard is as bad as a muggle."

"Why is being a muggle bad?" Harry asked. "I was a muggle for almost eleven years."

"I'm not saying it makes sense. I'm just saying that's what they believe." Tracey frowned. "Anyway, here's the point: blood purists use… that word… rather casually. But it's not something you should go around saying carelessly… unless you mean it, I guess." Tracey looked Harry straight in the eye.

"Thanks, Tracey," said Harry. "I'll make sure to avoid it."

Tracey suddenly looked away. "Okay. Bye, then." She was gone in a swirl of blonde hair, losing herself in the nearby crowd.

Harry looked behind him, trying to find Tracey, and saw that he was being followed by a group of Gryffindor second years. Ron Weasley was moving his hand through the air as if it were a broom, waving his arms wildly as he told a story, apparently about quidditch. Granger rolled her eyes but smiled indulgently.

Harry made a note to apologize to Granger later. Away from Draco. And Ron.

As Harry and the crowd of students moved onto the second floor, Harry began to hear an odd whispering noise.

"_Blood blood blood blood…_"

Harry stopped walking and shook his head. His sudden stop caused a pair of Hufflepuffs bumped into him.

"Sorry, sorry!"

"Don't worry," Harry said. He stepped aside and listened, but the whispering was gone. Perhaps he had imagined things.

Then again, perhaps not. As Harry and the crowd rounded a corner, he found himself ankle deep in a puddle of water. More importantly, there was an enormous message scrawled on the wall, written in what appeared to be blood.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE.

The crowd went absolutely silent. One familiar voice spoke out: "Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, mudbloods!"

Harry looked down. Beneath the message, standing alone and opposite the crowd, was Draco Malfoy.

*!*!*!*!*

The next several minutes were a whirlwind. Only later in the evening was Harry able to make sense of everything that happened.

First, Argus Filch arrived. His cat, Mrs. Norris, was hanging beneath the message, upside down, by its tail. Filch began wailing and accused Draco of killing his cat. Although Draco didn't seem the sort, Harry had to admit that the evidence was rather damning—the entirety of the Halloween feast had stumbled across Draco standing alone at the scene of the crime.

The hall was absolute chaos. Students were shouting and pushing around, half trying to get closer to the petrified body of Mrs. Norris, the other half trying to get as far away as possible. Harry caught a glimpse Draco being whisked away by Snape and Dumbledore. There was a high pitched scream—Ron Weasley's sister had finally seen Mrs. Norris.

"SILENCE." Professor McGonnegal's magically amplified voice boomed out over the crowd. McGonnegal was not shouting, but her tone made it clear that disobedience would not be tolerated. The students immediately became quiet and stopped moving. Harry looked around and located McGonnegal at the edge of the crowd, arms in the air. "Slytherins, please congregate in the north end off hall, Gryffindors in the south, Hufflepuffs in the east and Ravenclaws in the west. Prefects, you will conduct your housemates back to your dormitories. At that time, you will take attendance and report any missing classmates to your head of house."

Harry moved to the north end of the hall. Harry managed to find Pansy in the crowd, and they walked back to Slytherin together. The entire house was unusually quiet. There was a tension in the air, an energy of some sort that Harry couldn't quite put his finger on.

Back in the common room, Pucey, who was a fifth year prefect, was taking attendance. He read the names in a bored sort of voice. He clearly thought that the exercise was a waste of time… but was also unwilling to flout the instructions of the Deputy Headmistress. As he moved through the list, Pucey called out without thinking: "Malfoy?"

There was a long silence. Finally, Harry spoke up. "He's with Snape and Dumbledore."

"Right." Pucey paused for a moment, then continued. "Montague? You here?"

The rest of attendance went by without incident. Harry and Pansy agreed to wait in the common room for Draco to return. They did not have to wait long—Draco returned before curfew, escorted into the room by a stone-faced Severus Snape.

As soon as the door closed behind their head of house, Draco's face broke into a wide smile. As the blonde boy sauntered toward Harry and Pansy, whispers rippled across the room. Draco dropped into a chair next to Harry. He slouched down and draped his leg over the arm of the chair, languidly turning his foot in the air.

Harry leaned forward in his chair. "Well? What happened?"

"When?" Draco began inspecting his fingernails.

"What was the writing on the wall? Who's "the heir"? Was that blood? What's a Chamber of Secrets?"

"Oh, _that_. That was nothing."

Pansy reached out and swatted Draco on the back of the head. "Don't be a brat. Harry saw you get taken away by Snape and Dumbledore. Tell us what happened."

"Nothing," said Draco. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

"So it _was_ you?" Harry asked.

Draco smiled and stretched. "Filch tried to have me expelled, but Snape was having none of it—not from that repugnant squib."

"So what did the message mean?" said Pansy.

Draco became serious. He sat up and made a production of glancing around the room to check for eavesdroppers. He couldn't have been more conspicuous if he tried—which was, in fact, his goal. Several upper-year students had stopped their homework and were clearly listening to Draco.

"Father told me about it this summer. The Chamber of Secrets can only be opened by the Heir of Slytherin," Draco said. "And now, the Chamber is open."

"You opened it?" said Harry. "Are you the Heir of Slytherin?"

Draco stood and smiled. "I think I'm headed to bed. Tiring night, you know." As soon as Draco was out of sight, the whispers began again in the common room.

* * *

**A/N:** _I don't have anything profound to say this week. I deeply appreciate all the readers who take time to review, especially the small community of repeat reviewers. You guys are the best._


	5. Chapter 5

The Chamber of Secrets and the mysterious "Heir" had become the talk of the school, despite the impending Gryffindor/Slytherin quidditch match. Harry was dying to learn more about the Chamber, but Draco wasn't saying anything. His friend kept saying vague, noncommittal things whenever Harry asked about the Chamber. Harry tried the library, but he couldn't get his hands on a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_—all twenty were checked out.

Harry's unlikely savior came in the form of Hermione Granger, who asked about the Chamber of Secrets in History of Magic. Professor Binns gave a detailed account of the legend to class of Slytherin and Gryffindor students. Binns confirmed what Draco had said: that only the Heir of Slytherin could open the Chamber, and that it was supposedly hidden somewhere in Hogwarts. (Almost as interesting was Binns' revelation about the blood prejudices underlying Slazar Slytherin's theory of education at Hogwarts.)

The last class of the week for Harry and Draco was Potions. Professor Snape's lesson was just as difficult as always, but his supervision of Harry and Draco was much more lax. Snape spent most of his time on the opposite side of the room, allowing Harry and Draco to conspire with Pansy and Theodore Nott. Working together, the four Slytherins finished easily, and quite early. Just before class ended, Snape finally approached Harry's table.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter. Ms. Parkinson. Please stay after class."

Harry glanced at Draco. Harry had assumed that Snape was allowing them to work together, giving them an easy day just before their match. If he was wrong, there would be hell to pay. But if that was the problem, Snape would have kept Nott behind, as well.

When the classroom had cleared, Harry, Draco and Pansy stood before Snape's desk.

"Do you know, Mr. Malfoy, why I asked the three of you to stay behind?"

"No, sir."

"Let me rephrase, then. Why have I begun to hear rumors that you are claiming to be the Heir of Slytherin?"

"Er… I've never said that." Draco looked away from Snape as he spoke.

"Indeed. You have simply allowed students to draw their own conclusions, while you remained silent?"

"Not… I mean…"

Snape's voice grew hard. "I thought, Mr. Malfoy, that you understood the gravity of the situation, following our conversation with the Headmaster on Halloween. Mr. Filch's request for your expulsion was not well taken, at the time, but circumstances can easily change." Snape stared at Draco, allowing the gloom of the word "expulsion" to hang in the room. "Apparently, my wishes were not clear on Halloween, so I will be perfectly clear today: You will not perpetuate the notion that you are the Heir of Slytherin. You will not allow this rumor to be spread. If this rumor is mentioned in your presence, or if you are asked directly, you will deny that you are the Heir. Do you understand?" Draco nodded, but Snape was not satisfied. "Perhaps a public declaration is in order, Mr. Malfoy? An apology? I find that shame has a remarkable deterrent effect."

"No, sir. I mean, you don't need to do that, sir." Draco's face had gone white.

"Good." Snape looked at Harry and Pansy, in turn. "Mr. Potter, Ms. Parkinson, I will rely upon you to prevent Mr. Malfoy from bringing about his own expulsion." Snape stood. "And, in case either of you have considered propagating this falsehood on behalf of Mr. Malfoy, I will have you expelled if you do so." Snape glared at the three students. Neither Harry nor Draco nor Pansy moved a muscle. "The three of you are dismissed."

Harry, Draco and Pansy were silent for most of the walk back to the dungeons. Finally, Harry couldn't resist speaking up. "So-"

"I'm not the Heir of Slytherin, okay?" Draco blurted. "Stop badgering me about it."

"Sure, but-"

"Filch wanted me expelled, but Dumbledore said I was innocent until proven guilty. Snape said that the dark magic involved in permanently petrifying the cat was too advanced for me, and then he took me back to the common room."

"So you didn't do it?"

"Of course I didn't," Draco snapped. "I'm not expelled, am I?"

Draco walked directly through the common room and up to the dormitory. He did not come downstairs for dinner. Flint was furious.

"I will personally slaughter Malfoy if we lose the match because he couldn't eat," Flint declared at dinner.

Harry, whose stomach was churning with nervousness about the match, began to shovel food into his mouth. If he was lucky, he'd be able to keep from vomiting. But even the possibility of puking was better than Flint's wrath.

*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*

The day of the Gryffindor/Slytherin quidditch match dawned cold and clear. Harry got dressed early, planning to head down to the pitch alone to master his nerves in solitude. As he entered the common room, however, he found Pansy sitting next to the door.

"Do you mind if I walk down to the pitch with you?" Pansy asked. "I want to get a good seat to watch your first game." Without waiting for a reply, Pansy hopped to her feet and started for the quidditch pitch.

Harry was quiet for most of the walk. It was Pansy who broke the silence.

"Who do you think it is?" Pansy asked Harry.

Harry was lost in thought. "Who's who?"

"The Heir of Slytherin. Everybody's still saying that it's Draco… or you."

"Don't let Snape catch you saying that," Harry said. Then, the full import of what Pansy said finally registered. "Wait, people are saying I'm the heir? Pansy, I was with you at dinner. You _know_ it wasn't me."

Pansy shrugged. "You went to the bathroom halfway through the feast. You could have done it then. You see, the way I figure, the Heir to Slytherin would clearly have power, prestige, cunning, and above all, good looks." She smiled at Harry. "It sounds like somebody I know, but I just can't remember who."

Harry was suddenly uncomfortable, for many reasons. "It's not me," he said. "I certainly didn't write anything on the walls. I'd remember if I did."

Pansy giggled and gave him a hug. Harry stumbled over his own feet, but Pansy released him before he crashed to the ground.

"Good luck, Harry!" Pansy dashed into the stands.

When Harry entered the locker room, he found that he was not alone. Flint was sitting on a bench, already in uniform, carefully wrapping his fingers in spello-tape. The Slytherin captain's face was intense, and he made no move to greet Harry. Harry had no desire to break the silence, either. Harry walked to his locker and opened it without saying a word.

Harry pulled out his uniform. It was green with silver trim. On the left breast was the Slytherin crest, a silver snake against a green background. Harry ran his fingers along the edges of the crest. Today, he would be representing Slytherin. The entire house would be watching him. Any mistake he made, and failing, would be on display for everybody to see.

Harry's stomach lurched. He put a hand against the locker and leaned forward, breathing heavily.

"Nervous, Potter?" Flint had finally spoken.

"Yeah." Harry was taking slow breaths. The urge to vomit was almost overwhelming.

"Do you want some advice?"

"Sure."

"In my first match, I scored on my own keeper," Flint said. "Don't do that."

Harry turned and looked at his captain, to see if he was joking. Flint's face was dead serious. "Thanks for the pep talk, Flint."

"Oh, you wanted a pep talk? I'm sorry, little girl. I'll do better next time." Flint tugged on his gloves. "Finish changing and meet me on the pitch."

When Harry finally walked out of the locker rooms, Flint was already in the air with a practice quaffle. Flint jerked his head upwards, indicating that Harry should fly up to meet him. As Harry rose through the air, Flint threw him the quaffle. As soon as the quaffle was in the air, Flint darted at the nearest goal ring. Harry threw the quaffle back to Flint, who fired it through the nearest ring. It was a pattern from practice, a drill the Slytherin team used to warm up. Harry retrieved the quaffle, threw it to Flint, and then flew toward the rings. Harry easily caught Flint's pass and tossed the quaffle through a ring.

Harry and Flint repeated the drill, over and over. Harry could feel his apprehension fade as he completed the steps of the familiar drill. Flint began to throw the quaffle farther and farther ahead of Harry, forcing Harry to increase his speed. Harry did the same for Flint, forcing his captain to catch at different angles.

Finally, one of Flint's throws was too far for Harry to catch easily. Harry stretched out and snagged the quaffle with his left hand, but he was moving too fast; he'd be past the rings before he could to shoot. Harry braked his broom with his right foot, throwing the broom into a flat spin. His back was to the rings, but he only had one chance to shoot before he was past. Harry hurled the quaffle over his shoulder, without looking, just guessing at where the rings would be.

As Harry continued through his spin, the rings once again came into view, and he saw the quaffle sail through the center of the farthest ring. From the other end of the pitch, Harry could hear Pansy's voice calling out: "Yeah, Harry!"

"Nice throw, Potter." Flint had flown over and was hovering next to Harry.

"Thanks," Harry said, breathing heavily.

"So, you just proved that you can fly. You can catch. You can pass and shoot, not that you'll need to. What are you afraid of?"

"Failure," said Harry quietly. "If I lose, I don't just lose for me. I lose for all of us. Draco, you, Slytherin… everybody."

Flint snorted. "You're acting like a Hufflepuff. It's pathetic. Do you have emotions, Potter, or do your emotions have you?"

Harry frowned, but said nothing.

"Fear is functional," Flint said. "It's a survival instinct. It warns you when something might go bad. Don't let it control you."

"Oh, so I should act like a big, brave Gryffindor?" Harry said. Flint's brusque attitude was grating on Harry's already-frayed nerves.

"Gryffindors are stupid," Flint said. "They ignore fear. That's why they always end up in the hospital wing after quidditch matches. You're a Slytherin, so start acting like it. Once fear has warned you of danger, it becomes useless. So figure out why you're afraid and get over it."

"It's not that easy, Flint."

Flint turned away from Harry and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. "This stadium will be full in less than two hours, Potter. Hundreds of people will watch this game, and most of them will want you to fail." Flint pointed to the Slytherin section, where Pansy was standing and waving. "But there are a few, Potter, who will want you to succeed. Those small, loyal few will stand behind you. And when you win, you will be rewarded." Flint turned back to Harry. "Your fear prevents you from seeing that. If you lose, yes, you lose for all of us. But if you win…"

Harry's imagination took flight. He could see himself flying around the pitch, the entire Slytherin section cheering for him. He could see himself catching the snitch, in front of the outstretched hands of Katie Bell, the Gryffindor seeker. He could see the Slytherin fans screaming wildly, chanting "Po-_tter_! Po-_tter_!" as he flew around the pitch, snitch in hand. He could see himself walking into the common room, where the party was already underway, and Pansy would run across the room to congratulate him, and she would hug him before he was even through the door…

Harry turned back to Flint, but Flint was gone. Harry looked across the pitch, and saw that the Slytherin captain had retrieved the quaffle and was walking toward the locker room. Harry took a last look around the pitch, then followed Flint.

Harry was ready.

* * *

**A/N:** _For as much as I ragged on quidditch, there's quite a lot of it in this book, isn't there? The best thing about quidditch is that it shows other aspects of Harry's personality. For example, a Slytherin version of Harry isn't afraid of a little fame and glory, and uses quidditch to improve his social standing, like a stereotypical high school jock. Contrast this to Harry in canon; Gryffindor Harry desperately wants to be a regular boy with a regular life, and uses quidditch to escape from the pressures of being The Chosen One._

_Additionally, there is precedent for Harry tossing things over his shoulder without looking. In Chapter 34 of Goblet of Fire, as Harry runs to grab the Tri-Wizard Cup and escape from the graveyard, he blasts a Death Eater without looking._


	6. Chapter 6

Once the quidditch match was underway, it was clear that Gryffindor was outmatched. The Nimbus 2001 brooms gave Slytherin a distinct advantage. The Gryffindor chasers—Spinnet, Johnson and Ron Weasley—were still working on chemistry, and couldn't keep control of the quaffle for more than a few moments. Ron in particular seemed miscast, as his mindset was clearly defensive; he mishandled at least two open shots on the Slytherin rings. Fred and George Weasley, the beaters, were obviously skilled at striking bludgers, but their Cleansweep Fives limited their effectiveness.

Gryffindor's seeker, Katie Bell, was in her second year at the position, and was performing admirably. Last year had been a disaster, as Gryffindor finished dead last in the quidditch cup, but she had finally learned some of the subtleties of her position. What she lacked in raw talent, she was beginning to make up for in tactics.

Harry and Bell had been shadowing each other for most of the game. Harry had a speed advantage, which Bell tried to negate by regularly bumping Harry's broom and moving into his flight path. Harry noticed that Bell was watching his eyes, using the direction of gaze to anticipate his movements. Harry was content to let Bell react to him; he knew that a Slytherin victory was inevitable unless Bell caught the snitch early. Every second that Bell spent focusing on Harry meant one second less for Bell to find the snitch.

As the game progressed, the Slytherin chasers began to dominate. Slytherin scored early and often. The Slytherin beaters relentlessly harassed the Gryffindor chasers, causing turnover after turnover. Slytherin's lead was quickly becoming insurmountable.

"Potter, down!"

Harry reacted instantly to Flint's words, diving downward on his broom. A bludger, coming from behind, shot through the space he had just vacated.

Harry turned to check on his beaters. Both were on the opposite side of the pitch, working in tandem to knock the other bludger into the Gryffindor chasers. The Weasley twins were in the same area of the pitch, desperately trying to defend their teammates.

_How did the Weasleys hit that bludger so far?_

"POTTER!"

Harry looked forward. The bludger was hurtling toward his face. He rolled in the air, allowing the bludger to pass above him while he was upside down. As Harry watched, the bludger turned itself in mid-air and once again began racing toward him.

Harry put his broom at top speed and took off across the field. Bell hesitated, then followed Harry. She could have used the opportunity to look for the snitch, but chose to stick to her game plan, instead.

Harry found himself dancing across the pitch, desperately dodging the rogue bludger. The bludger was faster than Harry's broom; no matter how fast Harry flew, the bludger was catching up. Thankfully, Harry's Nimbus 2001 was more maneuverable. As the bludger approached, Harry jerked his Nimbus to one side, and the bludger shot past him. But Harry's evasive maneuvers allowed Bell to begin closing the distance between them.

Harry did everything he could to shake the bludger. He ran the bludger through the walls of the stadium, hoping it would become stuck, but the bludger smashed right through. Harry tried to run the bludger into the ground, but the bludger simply bounced up and resumed the chase. Harry tried twists and turns, spins and dives, but the bludger would not be shaken.

Finally, as Harry turned a desperate loop to avoid a collision, he caught sight of the snitch. It was almost on the ground… but between Harry and the snitch was Katie Bell.

Harry knew that he couldn't get to the snitch in a straight shot—Bell would go after the snitch while simultaneously coming into Harry's flight path. Harry wouldn't be able to maneuver around her before she made the catch. And all this was ignoring the fact that the rogue bludger was coming around for another pass, and Harry wouldn't be unable to outrace the bludger. But there had to be a way…

Harry came out of the loop and re-oriented himself on the pitch. The bludger was finishing its wide turn, coming around from Harry's right. Bell was below Harry, watching carefully. Harry waited, allowing the bludger to move closer.

Harry looked left, gasped, and shot forward on his broom, putting the bludger directly behind him. The announcer, Lee Jordan, spoke over the loudspeaker. "Potter may have seen the snitch! Bell moves to follow!"

As Harry had anticipated, Bell moved upward and into Harry's flight path. The rogue bludger, meanwhile, was closing the distance from behind. Harry pushed down on his broom, diving quickly, and the bludger shot through the space above him. Harry continued his dive, now aimed directly at the snitch. Above him, there was a satisfying "thunk" as the bludger made contact with Katie Bell. The crowd let out a great "Oooooh."

As Harry dove, he glanced backward to locate the bludger. Instead, he saw Katie Bell's limp body falling toward the ground. Harry looked around. Madame Hooch was across the pitch, caught between a loudly-yelling Draco and a loudly-yelling Ron Weasley. The bleachers were even farther away; at that distance, even Professor Dumbledore would have difficulty stopping Katie's fall.

Harry pulled back on his broom, abandoning his dive for the snitch. He turned back and positioned himself to intercept Bell's fall. Harry caught the Gryffindor seeker in mid-air, long before she was in danger of hitting the ground.

Harry looked down, certain that the snitch would have vanished. Much to Harry's surprise, the snitch was still hovering near the grass. Harry glanced around, but couldn't locate the rogue bludger. With a shrug, Harry again dove toward the pitch (significantly slower, now, with the added weight on Katie Bell).

When Harry reached ground level, the snitch zipped in a quick circle, but made no attempt to fly away. The snitch's behavior was odd, but Harry refused to look a gift horse in the mouth. Harry slowed until he was almost stationary, reached out, and plucked the snitch from the air with his hand. He turned to the stands and raised the snitch into the air.

With a massive crash, the rogue bludger slammed into Harry's shoulder. There was a crack like a whip, and Harry felt a white-hot pain as the bones in his arm shattered. Harry was thrown from his broom, and Bell dropped to the ground. Several feet away, the rogue bludger slowed and dropped to the ground, as well, registering that the game had ended.

Before he could enjoy the cheering of the crowd, Harry fainted.

*!*!*!*!*!*

"Nice catch, hero."

It was the night, and Draco had snuck into the hospital wing. Katie Bell had already awakened and had been sent back to Gryffindor Tower. Madam Pomfrey was requiring Harry to spend the night, waiting as his arm bones re-grow themselves, painfully, from nothingness. Much to Harry's dismay, Professor Lockhart had been the first on the scene at the quidditch pitch, and his attempt to heal Harry's arm had instead removed Harry's bones entirely.

Harry gave a small smile. "I can't believe we won." The glow of quidditch victory was the only thing that kept Harry's spirits up.

"Could you have hogged a little more glory?" Draco said. "You saved a girl, won the game, had a dramatic injury… am I missing anything?"

"Come on, Draco."

"No, no, you should try harder, next time. Perhaps you could deliver a baby, kill a rampaging giant and raise the dead during the next game. If you're lucky, the school will forget that there were any other players on the pitch."

"I was attacked by a rogue bludger. I didn't try to do anything."

"Whatever. Good game." Draco glanced at the clock. "There's a party on in the common room. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

As Draco stood to leave, there was a crack in the air. Dobby, Draco's house elf, appeared at the foot of Harry's bed.

"Harry Potter must–eep!" Dobby saw Draco and gave a startled cry. With a crack, the elf disappeared.

Draco was astonished. "Was that- Dobby! Get back here!"

The elf reappeared, eyes cast downward.

"Tell me what you're doing at Hogwarts," Draco demanded.

Dobby hung his head. "Dobby was trying to protect Harry Potter."

"From what?"

"There is a plot," Dobby said, with great difficulty. "Harry Potter will be safe if he is not at Hogwarts. Dobby thought his bludger-" The house elf clasped both hands to his mouth.

"_Your _bludger? What did you do, Dobby?" Draco demanded. The elf struggled, torn between keeping a secret and obeying his master. "Tell me, now!"

Dobby's shoulders slumped. "Dobby thought that Harry Potter would be sent home from school if Harry Potter was injured.

Draco was flabbergasted. He turned to Harry. "You weren't joking this summer, were you?"

"Of course I wasn't," Harry said, a little crossly.

Draco turned back to his elf. "Dobby, were you at Harry's Aunt's and Uncle's house this summer?"

Dobby nodded again. His ears drooped and he turned his eyes down.

"What were you doing there?" Draco demanded.

Dobby's voice was small. "Dobby was trying to make trouble for Harry Potter, so that Harry Potter would be forbidden from going to school."

Harry was running out of adjectives to describe the various expressions of astonishment that were crossing Draco's face. The blonde boy turned to Harry, as if searching for some insight. Harry shrugged with his good shoulder, and hoped that the gesture communicated a sufficient amount of _I-Told-You-So_.

"Dobby, I order you to stop trying to protect Harry Potter," Draco said. "I order you to stop trying to remove Harry from Hogwarts. I order you to stop trying to prevent Harry from returning to Hogwarts if he leaves. Are my orders clear?"

Dobby nodded.

"Good. Now go home, and do not return."

With a crack, Dobby disappeared.

"Wait!" Harry called. But Dobby was gone. "Call him back!"

"Why?"

"Because I want to know about the plot!"

"Oh. Dobby!" But the elf did not respond to Draco's call. Apparently, Dobby was strictly obeying Draco's order not to return. "Stupid elf," Draco muttered. "He'll follow orders to the letter, but only if it makes it inconvenient for us."

"What sort of plot is he on about?" Harry mused.

Before Draco could answer, he heard voices from the corridor. Draco dove under Harry's bed, and Harry pretended to be asleep. Through thin slits in his eyes, Harry was able to see that the voices belonged to Professors Dumbledore and McGonnegal. Dumbledore was carrying the petrified body of a young Gryffindor boy—the annoying one, who was always carrying around a camera.

Dumbledore's voice was low and grave as he spoke. "Minerva, the Chamber of Secrets is open again."

McGonnegal was shocked. "But, who…"

"The question is not _who_," Dumbledore said, casting a glance at Harry's bed. "The question is _how_."

After the professors had left, Draco snuck out from under the bed. Draco admitted that Dumbledore's words made no more sense to him than they did to Harry.

*!*!*

Draco's anger over the first quidditch match had waned slightly—the latest petrification, combined with the bizarre behavior of Dobby had made him forget, largely, that he was angry at Harry. The rest of the students at school, however, frequently found themselves to be the targets of Draco's misplaced anger. Any mention of the quidditch match would cause Draco to begin ranting and raving, ostensibly about Gryffindors. At practice, Draco's furious play was more a result of rage and a desire to be the star of the next match, rather than a genuine desire to improve as a chaser.

The entirety of Slytherin house was treading lightly around Draco. Even Pansy, who had recently been partnering with Draco in Potions, was giving him more space than usual. Ironically, that left Harry and Draco as Potions partners. Because Draco was so skilled at Potions, he and Harry easily found themselves distracted, knowing that their potion would still be one of the best in class.

In the second week of December, Harry and Draco were supposed to be making a Swelling Solution, but instead found themselves huddled over a piece of parchment covered in Xs and Os. Draco pointed his wand; one of the Xs moved across the parchment, followed by a long arrow.

"No, Harry, look here. Hufflepuff plays strong side offense, like this. They put both beaters on the left side of the field and stack all three chasers on the right, to attack two hoops. If we play our standard zone defense, they'll score any time they get the quaffle, because they'll always have an odd man rush."

A throat cleared behind them. The boys slowly turned around. Professor Snape had silently crossed the room and was looming over their table.

"Gentlemen. I assume this is a diagram of the reacting agents of today's potions?"

"Er, yes professor," said Harry.

"Good," said Professor Snape. "Your enthusiasm is impressive. However, today your assignment is to produce a Swelling Solution, not a diagram. Perhaps you should re-focus your efforts."

"Yes, sir," said Draco.

Snape strode away. From the next table, Harry could hear Weasley complaining to Granger.

"I hate how Snape always favors Slytherins."

"Forget about it, Ron," said Granger.

"I mean, one of them _has _to be the Heir, right? They're Slytherin's little princes."

"Sod off, Weasley," Harry snapped.

"Oh, did I hurt your delicate Slytherin feelings?" Weasley's voice was lilting and mocking. "I'm surprised you can feel any emotion at all, you cold-blooded snake."

Harry and Draco both turned to Weasley, wands in their hands. Before they could do anything, there was a massive explosion behind them. Crabbe and Goyle began shouting, and Harry's left arm was splashed with their potion.

Harry's body slowly began leaning to the left. He looked down and saw that his arm was swelling to massive size. Goyle ran into view, yelling, trying to cover his eyes, which had swollen to the size of dinner plates, with his hands. The students who hadn't been splattered with Swelling Solution were chattering excitedly. Snape strode through the classroom, waving his arms to clear the fumes from the explosion.

"SILENCE!" The class immediately became quiet. "_Evanesco!_" With a flick of Snape's wand, the spilled solution disappeared.

Harry saw that, in addition to himself and Goyle, at least half a dozen students were swelling in various places. Crabbe's tongue, for example, had grown so large that he was forced to carry it in his own hands.

"Students who have been splashed will come to the front of the classroom to receive a Deflating Draught."

As Harry dragged his swollen arm to the front of the classroom, he saw Weasley standing alone and snickering at him. With great difficulty, Harry raised his enormous left middle finger at Weasley.

After Harry and his classmates had taken the antidote, Snape investigated the cauldron explosion. Regardless of Crabbe and Goyle's ineptidute, nothing in the Swelling Solution should have been explosive, no matter what the combination or proportion.

At the bottom of the cauldron, Snape discovered a burnt-out firework.

"If I ever discover who did this," Snape said, "I will make sure they are expelled."

Harry would generally have expected Weasley—his brothers would consider fireworks to be a perfect prank for Potions. But Harry had been watching Weasley when the cauldron exploded. Granger seemed to be blushing a guilty shade of crimson, though…

When Potions had ended, Draco maneuvered until he was directly behind Ron Weasley.

"Watch this," Draco whispered to Harry.

Draco waved his wand and muttered quietly. A spider, one of several on a nearby window pane, floated into the air. Draco neatly tucked the spider inside Ron Weasley's collar.

"This will teach him to be quiet," Draco said with a sneer.

Several steps ahead, Weasley rolled his shoulders uncomfortably—the spider was tickling the back of his neck. Unaware that it was a spider causing the sensation, Weasley shook his head back and forth, as if trying to scratch and itch. Finally, Weasley reached back with his hand and rubbed his neck. As he did so, the spider delicately crawled onto Weasley's hand.

Looking for the source of the tickle, Weasley brought his hand around, inadvertently placing the spider inches from his face. For a brief moment, the Gryffindor stared at the spider, and the spider at the Gryffindor. Then Weasley's courage broke, and he began running down the hallway. As he ran, he shrieked and slapped at his hand and his clothing. "They're all over me!" he screamed, over and over.

Draco cackled with laughter. Harry had to admit, it was rather funny to see Weasley screaming like a girl. Harry didn't know how Draco had discovered Weasley's fear of spiders, but tormenting Weasley with them had become Draco's newest hobby.

And, for some unknown reason, spiders seemed to be _everywhere _in the corridors of Hogwarts this December.

* * *

**A/N:** _So, I've been reading "Love in a Time of the Zombie Apocalypse," by Rizzle, Story ID: 8611642. I bring this up for two reasons. First, it's a great fic—it does a good job of integrating zombie tropes with the Harry Potter universe, but avoids being derivative. You should give it a read._

_Second, Rizzle asked if her readers would like to see her playlist of songs that inspire her writing. I was totally interested. (If not, it wouldn't have made the author's note.) I, too, have a playlist that inspires my writing, so I thought I would pose the same question to my readers: would you like the see the playlist of songs that inspire HP and the Slytherin Selection, and its sequels?_


	7. Chapter 7

A week after the strange accident in potions, Draco and Harry were on their way to the newly-formed dueling club. Weasley was ahead of them, a perfect opportunity to ambush him with another spider. Harry suggested it, but Draco declined.

"It's boring," Draco said. "Too easy."

Harry didn't believe it. Harry had seen Draco looking around the castle for spiders several times that day, but there were none to be found. Harry suspected that Granger had placed a subtle spider-repelling charm upon Draco, for Weasley's benefit.

Dueling club was being run by Professor Lockhart. Although Harry didn't like Lockhart much, the prospect of learning to duel was enough to lure most of the second year students to the first meeting.

Lockhart selected Weasley to give a dueling demonstration, and Draco immediately volunteered to be Weasley's opponent. The animosity between the two was palpable as they stood at opposite ends of the classroom, wands extended. Professor Lockhart was between them, arms in the air.

Lockhart dropped his arms. "BEGIN!"

Harry saw Draco move before Lockhart's signal, firing a blasting curse. Weasley was completely unprepared. Weasley's wand cracked in the center, the front half sending out pitiful red sparks as it clattered to the floor. Weasley stared down at the wand fragment in his hands, and looked as if he was about to cry.

"Disarming spells only!" shouted Lockhart. "Let's try that again. Weasley, give your wand here."

Weasley handed over the halves of his wand. Lockhart spoke a quick "Reparo," and handed the wand back to Weasley. The wand now had a curious bend, and looked as if it would fall apart at any moment.

At the other end of the room, Professor Snape was whispering in Draco's ear.

"Uh, Professor Lockhart-" Weasley began.

Lockhart ignored him. "Ready again? On three! One, two, three!"

Weasley tried an _expelliarmus_, but the spell curled and twisted, spiraling into the floor three feet to Weasley's left. Draco, meanwhile, had conjured a large serpent which slithered around the room, frightening the students. Lockhart's attempt at dispelling the serpent catapulted the animal toward a group of Hufflepuffs, where it reared up threateningly near Justin Finch-Fletchy.

"STOP!" shouted Harry. "Don't bite him!"

The serpent paused, then relaxed slightly. It wound itself into a tight coil, but left its head raised and staring at Harry.

The room was absolutely silent. For a long moment, nobody moved. Then, Professor Snape stepped forward and dispelled the snake with a flick of his wand.

"This meeting is adjourned," Professor Snape said. "Mr. Potter, I will see you in my office. Immediately."

Professor Snape strode from the room. Harry had to jog to catch up.

"Professor? What's wrong?"

Snape said nothing and ushered Harry into the office. Snape shut and locked the door behind them.

"You neglected to inform me that you are a parselmouth," Snape said angrily.

Harry didn't understand. "A what?"

"A parselmouth," Snape repeated. "The ability to talk to snakes. Why did you not inform me of this ability?"

"I didn't know I could," said Harry. "I mean, I talked to a snake once before, but that was before I knew I was a wizard. Later, I figured it was accidental magic."

Snape stared at Harry for several seconds, then sat down behind his desk. "Have a seat, Potter."

Harry sat.

"The ability to speak and understand parseltongue is very rare among wizards," said Snape. "Because of the ignorance of much of the wizarding population, it is a skill widely associated with dark wizards. Though many dark wizards have been parselmouths, not all parselmouths become dark wizards. The ability to speak and understand parseltongue is treated much like membership in Slytherin house, actually."

Harry nodded his understanding.

"Do you see why your dramatic revelation of this ability poses a problem?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Yes. Because I'm in Slytherin and a parselmouth, people are going to worry that I will turn into a dark wizard."

Snape shook his head. "Potter, because you are in Slytherin and a parselmouth, the general populace will assume that you already ARE a dark wizard. After all, if you were able to defeat the Dark Lord as a child, you must have powerful magic at your disposal."

"But I'm not a dark wizard," said Harry.

Snape brought his hands together on his desk. "Your problem is compounded by another curious circumstance. The second-most famous parselmouth of all time was the founder of our house, Salazar Slytherin. Like magic itself, pareslmouth is hereditary. Salazar Slytherin's ability was inherited by his progeny."

Harry's eyes grew wide. "Then, am I the Heir of Slytherin? But I haven't done anything!"

"I find it unlikely that you are the Heir," said Snape. "The Potters were a pureblood family whose genealogy was known for several generations, and they were neither associated with Slytherin nor known to be parselmouths. Your mother's family was not magical, for the most part, which you must have realized from living with your Aunt. It is difficult to believe that you are the Heir."

Harry looked at the floor. "You said that Salazar Slytherin was the second-most famous parselmouth of all time. Who is the most famous?"

"The Dark Lord," said Snape.

Harry continued looking downward. Snape stared at the boy for several seconds.

"Harry, finding friends among other houses is difficult for a Slytherin in the best of times. Certainly you should not expect to find any now, at least until the Heir of Slytherin is found and the Chamber of Secrets is closed. I suggest that you seek comfort, and perhaps even protection, from your fellow Slytherins."

"Yes, sir."

"If you have questions regarding parseltongue, please come to me. Misconceptions about parselmouths abound, and I do not wish you to be misled."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have any questions for me at this time, Mr. Potter?"

"No, sir."

"You are dismissed, then."

Harry stood to leave the room. As he was closing the door, Snape spoke up once again.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry stepped back into the room. "Yes, sir?"

"Congratulations on your quidditch victory."

"Thank you, sir." Harry flashed a wan smile, and closed the door behind him.

Back in Slytherin, Harry went directly to his dormitory. Draco was there, waiting for him. Harry heaved himself onto his bed, and stared upward at the canopy.

"Harry?" Draco's voice was quiet and tentative.

"Yeah?"

"We're friends right?"

"Sure, Draco." Harry sighed as he spoke. He was tired. Why did all the awful things always happen to him?

"I mean, you're my best mate, right?"

Why wouldn't Draco let this drop? "You tell me. You're my best mate, for what it's worth."

"Okay." Draco fell silent for several seconds. "Earlier this year, when I was sort of saying that I was the Heir of Slytherin… you know I didn't mean anything by that, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

"I mean, I didn't want to step on any toes or anything…"

"What are you on about?" Harry rolled over and looked at his friend.

Draco looked around—they were alone in the dormitory. "Harry… I have to know. Are you the Heir of Slytherin?"

"What? No!"

"Come on, Harry. You can tell me. I'm your best mate, you said so yourself."

"I'm not the Heir, Draco."

"Then why didn't you tell me you were a parselmouth? Why were you hiding it?"

"I wasn't hiding anything! I didn't know it was a big deal. Muggle raised, remember?"

"Of course it's a big deal, Harry. Some of the greatest wizards of all time were parselmouths. I mean, Salazar Slytherin himself." Draco's voice was starting to become a little excited.

"I know all about it," Harry said bitterly, thinking of Voldemort. "Snape told me after dueling club."

"Harry, I'll help you. You don't have to hide from me. We can clean up the school, together! We'll put all the Gryffindors and mudbloods in their place-"

"DRACO!" Harry leapt to his feet, hands clenched in fists at his sides. "I'm not the Heir. Can I be more clear? I. AM. NOT. THE. HEIR. Get it?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Oh," he said. "Right. I've got it. Of course you aren't the Heir." Draco gave an exaggerated wink, and made a click with the side of his mouth.

"Seriously," Harry said. "I'm not the Heir."

"Right," said Draco. "I'll tell anybody who asks. Not the Heir at all."

Harry threw his arms up and fell backwards onto his bed. Everything was hopeless.

* * *

**A/N: **_Those of you who were interested in my Harry Potter Playlist can find a link in my profile. I don't do a lot of youtube playlists, so my comments might not be readable. If that's the case, sorry! If you want to discuss the songs, feel free to leave a review or PM me._

_I've also noticed a lot of new followers the past few weeks. If you're a new follower, I'd love to get a qick review to see what you think._


	8. Chapter 8

Snape's prediction came to pass faster than Harry expected. The day after Dueling Club, while Harry was walking through Charms, he passed through a crowd of sixth-year Ravenclaws. As Harry walked by, he tripped and stumbled. Harry looked back at the Ravenclaws—had that been intentional? The older students continued onward, walking and chatting. Maybe it was an accident.

Or maybe not. It happened again later that day, with a mixed group of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. The next day, while Harry was washing his hands in the bathroom, a fourth year Gryffindor pushed Harry against the sink. The Gryffindor apologized, but Harry was soaked with water. Harry tried to use a drying charm on his clothes, but was too flustered to get it right. He arrived late to Herbology and Slytherin lost five points.

The revelation that Harry was a parselmouth was not without its advantages. In Slytherin, Harry was suddenly everybody's best friend. Several upper-year students had offered to bring Harry sweets and butterbeer from Hogsmeade, even though they had never spoken to Harry before. And some of them were _girls_. The quidditch victory over Gryffindor had done wonders for his social standing, but Harry hadn't even considered that he might reach greater heights of popularity. Apparently, it was happening anyway.

When Harry took his meals, for example, he was no longer restricted to sitting with Draco and Pansy. Not that Harry had ever felt restricted—he _wanted _to sit next to his friends. But now, as he approached the Slytherin table, there was a subtle shuffling, as his housemates shifted to create spaces in which Harry might sit. Harry caught several of the third year girls casting hopeful looks his way, and whenever their eyes met his stomach did a little flip-flop. Deciding who to sit with was an awful amount of pressure, and Harry continued to sit with Draco and Pansy just to avoid having to choose among his other options. It sent his head spinning.

But for all the benefits that Harry had suddenly discovered among his Slytherin housemates, there were three times as many students in the other houses, and every one of them seemed suspicious. Two days after dueling club, on the way to Defense, Harry's books were knocked out of his hands. The passing feet of older students trampled his parchment and books, and nearly crushed his fingers. By the time Harry had belongings collected, he was late to class.

When Harry rushed through the door, Lockhart was extolling his virtues to Harry's classmates.

"Ah, Harry," said Lockhart. "Just the man I was looking for. Come up to the front; I need your assistance."

Harry slunk up to the front of the class. He turned and faced Lockhart, who was characteristically beaming.

"Harry, you and I will demonstrate how I defeated the Wagga Wagga Werewolf. I will play myself, of course, as your classmates would be unable to suspend their disbelief if I acted the part of the werewolf."

Harry looked out over the class. The faces of the male students were, indeed, filled with disbelief… but not the sort that Lockhart intended. The girls were a completely different story, though. Each of the girls was sitting in approximately the same position: body leaned forward, head rested in hands, elbows placed the desk, vacant smile on face, periodic batting of eyes and wistful sighing. Harry couldn't understand why the girls hadn't seen through Lockhart's façade. The man was clearly a fraud. Lockhart knew as much about Defense as the Cornish Pixies he had released on the first day of class.

"Harry? The Wagga Wagga Werewolf?"

Harry sighed and hunched over his back. He held his hands up, limp at the wrist, fingers vaguely curled like claws. This was the fourth time that Harry had acted as the werewolf, and he was familiar with the process.

"Awoooo," Harry said.

"Come on, Harry. Let's have some enthusiasm! You're a terrifying beast!"

Harry's frustration bubbled over. He didn't want to be a terrifying beast. He wanted to sit in class and not be bothered. He was sick of being stared at, sick of Lockhart's incompetence, sick of being forced to act like a fool. He was sick of it all.

Harry growled at Lockhart, letting the sound form deep in his chest. He held his curled fingers tightly, wondering how quickly Lockhart could stop him if he actually attacked. An image flashed into Harry's mind: Harry was clinging to Lockhart's back, reaching around to claw at Lockhart's eyes. Harry's lip lifted in an expression that was half sneer, half smile.

"That's the spirit!" said Lockhart. "Now, your daring professor and seven time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most Charming Smile Award pounced on the werewolf, like this!" Lockhart leaped forward and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "At great risk to himself, your heroic professor pushed the beast to the ground—" Lockhart began to apply pressure to Harry's shoulder.

Harry knew that he was supposed to fall back onto the ground, but he resisted. Why should he let himself get pushed around? He had been pushed enough for one day.

"Ahem." Lockhart cleared his throat. "Your heroic professor _pushed the beast to the ground_." Lockhart applied more pressure. In response, Harry moved his feet slightly apart, setting himself more firmly against the force of Lockhart's hand.

"Harry," Lockhart whispered, "That's your cue."

Harry replied by snarling.

Lockhart's smile faltered. "So that's how it is, then?" Lockhart said quietly. "You think there's only room for one celebrity in this school?" Lockhart began pushing at Harry's shoulder with greater and greater strength. "Maybe you're right, Harry, but that celebrity isn't you."

Harry stood firm against Lockhart, refusing to go down. Harry stared at Lockhart's eyes, focusing intently on his opponent. It was as if the rest of the classroom didn't exist. As if Harry was looking down a long, dark tunnel, with Lockhart at the end… and the tunnel was faintly tinged with green…

Suddenly, Lockhart's wand was out and Harry felt a sharp sting in his leg. Harry collapsed to the floor and Lockhart stood over him, smiling triumphantly.

"And that is how I used the homorphus charm to defeat the Wagga Wagga Werewolf," said Lockhart.

"Did you just jinx Harry?" shouted Draco.

"Class dismissed," said Lockhart, suddenly cheery.

"But there's almost an hour left in class," said Daphne Greengrass.

Lockhart ignored her. Before anyone could say another word, Lockhart had breezed out of the classroom.

Draco and Pansy rushed forward to Harry. Tracey Davis was just behind. The rest of the class, confused by what they had just witnessed, slowly packed their things and wandered out of the classroom.

"He did jinx you, right?" asked Draco.

Harry nodded. "Stinging jinx, right in the leg. But he was weak as kittens. He couldn't have pushed me down without it."

"You should report him to Snape," said Draco, "and maybe my dad. Teachers aren't allowed to treat students like that. We could get him fired."

"I don't want to make an enemy," said Harry. "People like Lockhart." Harry looked at Pansy as he said this.

"What?" said Pansy. "He's pretty to look at. There's no fault in looking!"

"Whatever. A feud with Lockhart could ruin everyone's opinion of me," said Harry. "He feels like he won, so let's leave it at that. I've got enough problems without Lockhart hating me."

"What do you mean?" asked Davis.

"He means being a parselmouth," said Draco. He rolled his eyes and Pansy nodded.

"No, it's not that," Harry said. Harry was thinking of the pushing in the corridors. If it became public knowledge that he and Lockhart were fighting, the people taking potshots at Harry would grow bolder, at least around Lockhart. "Things… have been happening to me." Harry was nervous about telling Draco and Pansy what had happened. He was ashamed that he hadn't been able to avoid the problem himself.

"What sort of 'things'?" asked Davis.

Harry told them about the ordeal of the past three days. "It's nothing I can really put my finger on," said Harry. "I can't even say that anybody has really done anything wrong. But it's happening to me when it hasn't ever happened before."

"Can't you just…" Pansy waved her hand vaguely in the air. "…avoid it?"

"Like I did today? Stay late after every class, and show up late to the next one? I'll be losing points for Slytherin hand over fist. Great solution."

"Then stop trying to avoid it," said Davis. "You're thinking about it wrong. Don't avoid the problem—prevent the problem. Don't go anywhere without protection."

"Yeah," said Draco. "From now on, you don't go anywhere alone. When we go to class, you walk between Pansy and me. When you go to the bathroom, I watch your back. Nobody can take a shot at you, because you're protected. And if anybody does…" Draco smiled wickedly. "I'll make them regret it."

"Thanks, Draco," said Harry.

"Now, let's use that plan to get to lunch," Draco said. "I'm starving."

The students stood and retrieved their books from their desks. As Harry picked up his books and school bag, he saw Tracey dart out of the room. Harry had wanted to invite her to eat lunch with him and Draco, but she was long gone by the time Harry entered the corridor.

Draco's protection plan worked for several days. Harry still caught glares as he walked through the halls, but the older students had stopped overtly harassing him. The plan fell apart, however, when Draco and Pansy received detention from Professor McGonagall. They had transfigured a pair of books into spiders and were chasing Ron Weasley with them before class. When McGonagall arrived, the eight-legged books were crawling across Weasley's desk.

McGonagall was not amused. Pansy and Draco were required to report to detention after dinner, which meant that Harry would be without his escorts. Harry insisted that he would be fine to walk back to Slytherin on his own. Pansy was worried, and Draco agreed.

"You shouldn't take any chances," Draco said at dinner. "Why don't you ask Crabbe and Goyle to walk back with you?"

"Draco, their idea of protection might get me killed. Have you seen how bad Goyle's aim is in Charms?"

"It's not about actions, Harry. It's about prevention. Nobody will come after you with those two around."

Harry glanced down the table at Crabbe and Goyle. The two large boys were eating their dinners with an intensity that bordered on violence. Draco might be right, but Harry would rather have _actual_ protection, not just perceived protection.

"We can walk back with Harry," said a voice from Harry's other side. Harry turned and saw Daphne Greengrass leaning toward himself and Draco. Greengrass was sitting across from Tracey Davis, who was frantically waving her hands, trying to get Daphne to be quiet. When Tracey saw Harry looking, she pulled her hands back and sat on them, as if it was the only way to get them to stop moving. Her face flushed bright red.

"Yeah, let's do that," said Harry. Crabbe and Goyle were good enough guys to chum around with, but on the whole Harry preferred Tracey and Daphne as company. Tracey and Daphne could make good conversation; Crabbe and Goyle could make offensive smells. And both Tracey and Daphne were much more competent with their wands. If tonight was going to set precedent for future alternate escorts, Harry would much prefer to have Daphne and Tracey around.

Draco was skeptical. "I don't know… you seem like you'd be vulnerable."

"So, the reason that people haven't been bothering me is because you're such an intimidating physical specimen?"

"Exactly." Draco raised his arm and acted as if he were flexing a muscle. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'll be fine," Harry said.

At the end of dinner, Draco and Pansy reluctantly left Harry and went to their detention. Harry, Daphne and Tracey began their walk back to Slytherin. Conversation with Daphne was easy; Daphne was a talkative girl who was more than willing to share her opinion on a variety of subjects, regardless of whether the listener wanted her opinion at all. Harry was willing to let Daphne take the lead in conversation. It had been a hard week, and he found it relaxing to chat about the latest scandal from _The Daily Prophet_. Tracey said little, despite Daphne's attempts to draw her into the conversation. The blonde girl seemed consumed in her own thoughts. Harry certainly understood the feeling.

"Thanks for doing this, by the way," Harry said to Daphne and Tracey as they approached the Slytherin common room. "It seems stupid, but-"

"Move it, snake."

Harry and Daphne were shoved from behind. Daphne almost fell into a suit of armor, and Harry roughly bumped into Davis. They had been pushed by one of the beaters from the Hufflepuff quidditch team, who was walking quickly away.

"Hey!" Tracey had her wand out and was yelling at the Hufflepuff. The boy ignored Tracey, and Tracey started after him. "Hey, Hufflepuff!" Tracey fired a stinging jinx at the Hufflepuff, hitting him in the neck. The boy raised a hand to the back of his neck and turned around. By the time he completed his turn, Tracey was almost on top of him.

"_Aguamenti!_" Water burst out of Tracey's wand with the force of a fire hose. The Hufflepuff was blasted off his feet and onto the floor of the corridor. He tried backing away from the jet of water, but Tracey kept advancing. When the Hufflepuff tried to stand, Tracey used the water to sweep his legs out from under him.

"NOBODY DOES THAT TO HARRY POTTER!" Tracey said loudly.

"Do you want to stop her," said Daphne, "Or should I?"

"If you don't, I will," said a strange voice.

Harry looked over. Cedric Diggory, one of the other players on the Hufflepuff quidditch team, was standing next to him.

"He has to learn a lesson," Harry said.

"I think he gets the point," Diggory replied.

Harry glanced down the hall. Tracey was almost on top of the boy, blasting him the face with water. The Hufflepuff was scooting backwards on his hands, sputtering and gasping. He held up a hand to block the stream of water, trying to get a breath. Tracey leaned in and increased the power of her spell, blasting his hand backwards into his nose.

"Everybody else needs to learn a lesson, too," said Harry.

"I can't let this go on much longer," said Diggory. "Stop her, now, or I will."

Harry said nothing, and continued to watch Tracey. The Hufflepuff beater again tried to stand, and Tracey again swept his feet from under him.

Diggory raised his wand and opened his mouth. Before he could speak, Harry called out.

"Davis! Let him go!"

Tracey looked back at Harry, but continued soaking the Hufflepuff. "You sure?" Harry nodded, and Tracey ended her spell. She turned back to the Hufflepuff and pointed a finger at his face. "Nobody pushes Harry Potter around. Ever."

Tracey turned her back on the wet Hufflepuff and walked back to Harry and Daphne. "Thanks," said Harry, when Tracey reached him. Behind Tracey, Diggory was helping his teammate up off the floor.

"I think I overreacted," said Tracey quietly. The screaming aggression was entirely gone. Davis seemed small, quiet, and somehow vulnerable. It was as if she had been the person attacked by a flood of water. Daphne put her arm around Tracey's shoulder.

"Only a little," Daphne said. "You saw how long it took Diggory to intervene. If you were in the wrong, he wouldn't have let it go on so long. He would have been on you like a rabid badger."

Tracey gave a small smile. "Maybe."

Tracey said nothing else on the walk back to the common room. When they arrived, Tracey bolted to the girl's dormitory.

"She's really self-conscious, you know," Daphne said to Harry.

"Tracey? Why?"

"She's always comparing herself to Pansy and feels like she doesn't measure up. Tracey feels like she needs to be some super social queen bee, but she just isn't that type of person. She's the type who has two or three very close friends, but not a lot of acquaintances."

This seemed right to Harry. Tracey and Daphne were best friends, and he rarely saw one without the other. "Is that why Tracey is so awkward around me? Because she doesn't actually like me?"

Daphne shook her head, and her dark black hair fell into her eyes. "No, Harry. Tracey's awkward around you because she _wants_ to be your friend. Desperately. But she's managed to convince herself that _you_ wouldn't want _her_."

"That's nuts! I like Tracey quite a bit."

"And I keep telling her that, but she won't believe me." Daphne sighed. "It would be really good for Tracey to have more friends, Harry. But trust me on this: you'll have to make the first move." Daphne glanced up at the dormitory. "I should probably go check on her. I'm going to be spending the rest of the night convincing her that she isn't a complete embarrassment. Goodnight, Harry."

* * *

**A/N:** _Bonus chapter! Friday will update as normal. I thought that the last chapter was short and didn't have a lot of action, so… bonus!_


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** _I posted a bonus chapter on Wednesday. If you missed it, you should probably go back and read. Just sayin'._

* * *

Harry was studying in the library during his free period when he heard whispering. He tried to ignore it, but his name was whispered one too many times. He closed his book with a sigh, and got up. He was going to give an earful to whoever it was. As Harry got closer to the whispers, he recognized the voice of Hannah Abbot, a pretty Hufflepuff in Harry's year. Harry stopped short, curious to know exactly what was being said about him.

"You think Potter's the Heir, then, Ernie?" said Hannah.

"He's a Parselmouth, and that means Dark Wizard. Name one decent person you know who can talk to snakes." That was Ernie McMillan, a second-year Hufflepuff. Harry was offended by McMillan's statement. For one, McMillan probably couldn't name _any_ person he knew who could talk to snakes, other than Harry. For two, Harry was a decent person. "So far, Filch's cat has been attacked, and Filch and Potter aren't on good terms."

"Filch isn't on good terms with anybody," Abbot pointed out.

Ernie continued, ignoring her. "Then, Creevey was attacked. He's in Gryffindor, and that was right after the Gryffindor/Slytherin quidditch match."

"But Slytherin won the match, and Potter caught Katie Bell mid-air," Hannah said.

"You mean, 'Potter caught a pureblood mid-air in that match, and then petrified a muggle-born wizard afterward,'" Ernie said.

"But he seems so nice," Hannah said, now uncertain. "And he made You-Know-Who disappear, didn't he?"

"Potter should have been killed that night," Ernie said, lowering his voice. "Only a dark wizard could survive a killing curse from You-Know-Who. And that's probably why You-Know-Who tried to kill Potter in the first place. Didn't want another Dark Lord competing with him. Potter's been hiding that he was a Parselmouth all this time. He could be hiding loads of other dark powers."

There it was. Exactly what Snape had told him would happen. Harry cleared his throat and stepped out from behind the bookshelf. When the Hufflepuffs saw Harry, they immediately fell silent. The blood drained from Ernie's face, leaving him a sickly shade of white.

"So," said Harry, "you think I'm the Heir of Slytherin."

"We're not scared of you, Potter," said Abbot. Her wand was in her hand at the side of the body. She was clutching it so hard her knuckles were white.

"Good," said Harry. "There's no reason to be scared, because I'm not the Heir." Harry turned to McMillan. "And you're an idiot for thinking so."

"I was there at Dueling Club," said McMillan. "I saw you talk to that snake."

"I was telling it to stop. If you saw the snake, then you saw that it DIDN'T attack Finch-Fletchey."

"So you admit that you can talk to snakes!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Wherever Finch-Fletchey is, tell him he should be thankful that I stopped the snake."

"Egged it on is more like it," said McMillian. Harry scowled, and McMillan began sputtering. "I… er… I mean… I can trace my blood back through nine generations of wizards and warlocks, I'll have you know!"

"Do you think that matters?" Harry asked. "Enemies of the Heir should beware."

"So you admit that you're the Heir?!"

"I'm not the Heir, you stupid Hufflepuff! But if you keep spouting off like you were a few minutes ago, the Heir _will_ hear you, and there won't be anything your great great great grandmother can do to protect you."

Harry spun and stalked back to his table. He grabbed his books and started stuffing them into his bag. Losing his temper hadn't done him any favors. Yelling at Hufflepuffs wouldn't do anything to convince people that he wasn't the Heir. And listening to McMillan blather on in complete ignorance was infuriating.

Harry stormed out of the library, furious with himself, and furious with the Hufflepuffs. He needed to take his rage out on something. Maybe Draco would want to grab their brooms and some bats and knock a bludger around for a while.

_Delicious…_

Harry jerked to a halt. What was that?

_Blood, delicious blood…_

It was the same voice from the night of Halloween, but this time, there was nobody else in the hall. Where was that voice coming from?

_So hungry…_

The voice was fading. Harry broke into a sprint, chasing after it. As he rounded the corner, he struck something large and fell back onto his hands and knees. There was something sticky on his robes. Harry raised his hand and found that it was covered in blood.

Harry looked up and locked eyes with Hagrid.

"Harry? Whater you doin', runnin' in the halls like 'at?" Hagrid was carrying the bloody body of a dead rooster. The bird's neck had been slit.

"I…" Harry paused, and listened in the silence. The whispering voice was gone. "Why are you carrying a dead rooster?"

Hargrid lifted the bird. "Second one this year. Summat's been killin' 'em. I'm off to talk to Flitwick 'bout putting an alarm 'round the henhouse." Hagrid reached down and helped Harry off the floor. "Where were yeh goin', anyway?"

"Back to the common room. I got upset with some Hufflepuffs in the library."

"Why's 'at?"

"They think I'm the Heir of Slytherin," Harry said, looking down at the floor.

Hagrid's face grew dark. "I know yer not the Heir, Harry. And… well… if yeh'd like to come down to my hut sometime, I'll tell yeh a little more about it."

"Thanks, Hagrid." Harry looked up and smiled.

Hagrid reached down and ruffled Harry's hair, then patted him on the back. "Git along, then. And be careful. I know yer in Slytherin, but… be careful."

Harry nodded, and he and Hagrid began walking in opposite directions. Harry intended to go back to the common room… eventually. Before he did, though, he wanted to see if he could find any trace of the mysterious voice. Two minutes and three corridors later, he did: Harry stumbled upon the petrified body of Justin Finch-Fletchey. Next to Finch-Fletchey floated the motionless form Nearly-Headless Nick, ghost of Gryffindor tower.

Harry clambered to his feet immediately. He couldn't afford to be seen by the bodies, or everyone would be convinced that he was the Heir. But he couldn't leave Finch-Fletchey there on the floor. He had to tell somebody.

Professor Snape.

As Harry turned toward Snape's office, Peeves the Poltergeist came roaring through the hallway, throwing eggs at doors. Peeves came to a halt directly in front of Harry.

"Does Potty-Pot-Potter want an eggy-egg-egg?" Peeves finally looked past Harry and saw the petrified forms on the floor of the corridor. "Oh, Potty, what have you done? ATTACK! ATTACK! NO GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR AFTERLIVES! ATTACK!"

Doors flew open along the corridor. Students poured into the hallway, shouting and yelling. The corridor became absolute chaos.

Professor McGonagall was the first teacher out of her classroom. With military efficiency she began ordering students into classrooms, whether they belonged there or not. The hall cleared quickly, as none of the students wanted to be on the receiving end of McGonagall's wrath. Just as the last students were entering their classrooms, McMillan and Abbot turned the corner at the end of the hallway. They could clearly see Finch-Fletchey's petrified body on the ground next to Harry.

"_I knew it!_" shouted McMillan. "Caught in the act!"

"That will be quite enough," said McGonagall, coolly. "I suggest that you find a better place to be, unless you wish me to create one for you in a detention." McMillan and Abbott scurried away, and McGonagall turned to Harry. "Your wand, please, Mr. Potter."

"But I didn't do anything!"

"Nevertheless. This is out of my hands. Your wand, please." Harry reluctantly turned over his wand, and McGonagall tucked it away in her robes. "Thank you. Now, follow me.

Harry found himself in the headmaster's office. McGonagall had locked him there, wandless, while she went to search for Dumbledore. The shelves of the office were crowded with artifacts, the purposes of which Harry could only guess at. The spaces without magic relics were stuffed full of books. In the corner of the room sat a drab bird, whose every breath was an effort of heaving and huffing.

Although Harry had nothing to do with the petrification of Justin Finch-Fletchy, he was certain that he would be expelled. Harry cursed parseltongue, cursed prejudices, and cursed being sorted into Slytherin. He hadn't asked for any of it.

Well, except for being sorted into Slytherin.

Harry stared at the Sorting Hat, resting on a shelf next to the bird. The previous year, Harry had begged the Hat to sort him into Slytherin, and the Hat granted Harry's wish.

A question thrust itself to the forefront of Harry's mind. Harry strode across the office and placed the Hat on his head.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. I am glad to speak with you again," said the Hat. "The list of your exploits at Hogwarts grows quickly. Tell me, how has fame treated you?"

_Poorly_, thought Harry. He was more notorious than famous, at this point. Slytherin students had begun treating him with respect, but students from the other Hogwarts houses treated Harry as if he carried an exotic disease.

"You've been wondering if I put you in the right house," said the Hat.

_Not really,_ thought Harry.

"Nonsense. Your father was in Gryffindor. Your mother was in Gryffindor. You didn't know it, but your godfather was in Gryffindor, as well. At the end of last school year, you boldly undertook a grand adventure and defeated Lord Voldemort himself. You recently rescued a young lady from mortal peril on the quidditch pitch, forgoing an opportunity for personal glory and opening yourself to the anger of your peers. Clearly you are brave, courageous, and stout of heart."

Harry was frightened by how clearly and deeply the Sorting Hat had seen his thoughts. Harry _had_ been worrying about whether he had been sorted correctly, but had been scared to admit it, even to himself.

_So you put me in the wrong house._

"Sorting has very little to do with right and wrong, Mr. Potter. I stand by what I said: Slytherin will make you great."

_But great is not the same as good, is it?_

"Cleverly put, Mr. Potter. And that brings us to the question you wished to ask me all along."

_ When you sorted me, you said that there once was a wizard who was sorted into Slytherin… a dangerous wizard, and he was willing to do anything to get what he wanted. Who was he?_

"Mr. Potter, come now. If you're asking that question, you already know the answer."

_Voldemort._

"Fifty years ago, Voldemort brought horror upon Hogwarts, a horror that none ever expected to witness again. And now we have you, Harry Potter. Harry Potter, the wizard who twice defeated Voldemort. Harry Potter, willing to do anything to get what he wants. Harry Potter, the Slytherin. Harry Potter, the parselmouth. And now the Chamber of Secrets is open again."

_If I was the Heir… if I was opening the Chamber of Secrets… I'd know it, wouldn't I? I'd have to know._

Before the Hat could answer, another voice spoke. "Harry?"

Harry yanked the hat off his head. Professor Dumbledore stood in the doorway to the office, a curious look on his face.

"Hello, Professor," said Harry.

"Have you been enjoying your conversation with the Sorting Hat?"

"I'm not sure, sir."

Dumbledore nodded, then held out his hand. In it was Harry's wand. "Professor McGonagall presented me with your wand. She is not quick to judgment, but she is a cautious woman and fast acting when it is necessary. I would like to return your wand, Harry, because I do not believe you are a threat to this school." Dumbledore looked at Harry with his piercing blue eyes. "Am I correct?"

"Yes, sir." Harry met Dumbledore's eyes with a calm, level gaze.

"Good. Perhaps you can tell me, then, how you came upon the unfortunate Mr. Finch-Fletchey."

Harry told Dumbledore everything. Well, almost everything. He left out the parts about hearing voices. Harry knew that, even in the wizarding world, hearing voices was a bad sign. When Harry finished his story, Dumbledore's response was almost immediate.

"It appears, Harry, that you are an unfortunate victim of circumstance."

"I'm not being expelled?"

"Of course not, my dear boy." Dumbledore smiled. "Hogwarts does not expel students lightly."

"Professor, Lord Voldemort opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago, didn't he." Harry knew that Dumbledore often kept his own counsel on matters of importance. If Harry approached his question subtly, Harry figured that he would find himself artfully deflected from the subject. Shocking directness would, perhaps, be more profitable.

"Yes, Harry, he did."

Score one for shocking directness. "Then Voldemort is the Heir of Slytherin," Harry said.

"I believe so," said Dumbledore.

"And that is why Voldemort is a parseltongue—it's hereditary."

"Correct again, Harry."

"Then how can the Chamber open now?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore smiled. "Harry, I am unfortunately unaware of both the location of the Chamber of Secrets and the manner of its opening. You are welcome to think on the subject, but please do not allow it to drive you to distraction."

"Sir, if I can ask… why can I speak to snakes? Professor Snape said that the ability to speak and understand parseltongue was hereditary, but he also said that neither of my parents' families were Parselmouths."

Dumbledore regarded Harry with twinkling eyes. "You are quite perceptive, Harry. You do credit to your house. I had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that you would not ask that question."

Harry recognized that Dumbledore had not answered his question. He said nothing, waiting for Dumbledore to continue.

The headmaster sighed. "It is my belief, Harry, that your ability to speak to snakes comes from Voldemort himself. You are quite unique, in that you are the only individual to have survived a killing curse. I cannot be certain, but my current theory is that the magic involved in your survival also transferred some portion of Voldemort's power to you. Perhaps, rather than being affected by the spell, you absorbed the spell."

"You mean he put a piece of his magic inside me?"

"Yes. But please, do not dwell upon this. Magic does not make the man, as we often say."

Harry nodded, and Dumbledore smiled.

"On to more pleasant matters, then. I would like to introduce you to my phoenix, Fawkes. Today is his burning day, and if I am correct…"

As Dumbledore spoke, the bird burst into flames. Harry backed away and held up his hands.

"Because Fawkes is a phoenix, he will be reborn out of his ashes." As Harry watched, a small, wrinkled, newborn bird poked its head out of the pile of ashes on Dumbledore's desk. "Phoenixes are fascinating and beautiful creatures, Harry. They are nearly immortal. As I said, today is Fawkes' burning day, which means that, you see Fawkes in his eldest and youngest forms. Thus, Fawkes's best qualities are not on display."

"What do you mean, better qualities?" Immortality seemed rather unbeatable to Harry.

Dumbledore's smile dropped, slightly. "Phoenix tears have unsurpassed healing powers, and are able to bring a person back from the brink of death. A phoenix is highly intelligent, enormously faithful, and terrifically strong."

"He sounds wonderful," Harry said. Thinking about Fawkes reminded him of Hedwig. When he was free, he would go up to the Owlery and give her some treats.

"Indeed, he is." Dumbledore was quiet for a moment as he contemplated the newborn phoenix. "Harry, is there anything else you wish to tell me? Anything at all?"

"No, sir," Harry said. Which was true. There wasn't anything else he wished to tell Dumbledore; Harry would rather stay silent about the strange whispers in the hallway.

* * *

**A/N:** _In canon, Harry deals with the Hufflepuffs in the library very poorly. After he eavesdrops and hears them worrying that he's the heir, he steps forward and says, "Hello, I'm looking for Justin Finch-Fletchey." Come on, Harry. Is there a sentence in the English language that has a GREATER possibility of being misunderstood? Harry might as well have run directly at McMillan, wand raised, screaming, "TELL ME WHERE FINCH-FLETCHEY IS, RIGHT NOW!" It would have achieved the same effect._

_In other news, I wrote the last scene in Book Four yesterday! I'm super excited to start Book Five. I have notes for a few scenes that I just can't wait to write._


	10. Chapter 10

Christmas holidays were a welcome break for Harry. He didn't have to listen to gossip in classrooms any more, or watch clusters of Hufflepuffs shy away in fear as he passed by them in the halls. It was relaxing.

Draco stayed for holidays, as well. Mr. Malfoy was busy working with the Board of Governors of Hogwarts, trying to determine the best course of action regarding the Heir of Slytherin and the Chamber of Secrets. The Malfoys were too busy to have Draco come home. In fact, the Malfoys had been busy all year—they had promised to come watch a quidditch match, but Mr. Malfoy was constantly being called to work, and was forced to cancel their visit.

Harry jokingly suggested that he and Draco _both_ visit the Dursleys, but after Harry's unceremonious exit at the end of the summer, it was clear that the Dursleys would not have welcomed Harry, let alone a second magical child. Crabbe and Goyle, who were often found trailing after Draco like lost puppies, had also signed up to stay for break.

Thus, Harry was not surprised when he found Crabbe and Goyle locked outside the Slytherin common room. Even though Professor Snape had told them earlier that morning, they had already forgotten the new password for Christmas Break. Harry was surprised to discover Pansy Parkinson locked outside the common room, as well. Pansy had left the day before on the Hogwarts Express.

"I forgot a book," Pansy said. "I came back for the day to get it. My parents are having lunch down in Hogsmeade."

"Pansy," Harry said, "When have you ever read a book?" Harry was teasing, but Pansy was notorious for slacking off when it came to readings for school.

"I do read," she said. "_Witch Weekly_ counts as reading."

Harry laughed and turned to the portal. "Pureblood," Harry said. The door opened in response to the password.

The four students had barely sat down in the common room when Draco burst through the portal, waving a letter and a newspaper clipping in the air. "Have you seen this article?" Draco slammed the clipping onto the table. The article in question was about Arthur Weasley, who had recently been fined by the Ministry of Magic for bewitching a muggle car.

Draco began laughing uproariously. "Can you believe it? How ridiculous!" Draco smiled and looked expectantly at Crabbe and Goyle. Oddly, neither of the large boys was laughing. Even if Crabbe and Goyle didn't understand a joke (which was often) the two would generally laugh whenever Draco laughed.

Draco spoke slowly to Crabbe and Goyle. "This is why they're poor, you idiots. The Weasleys can't afford to take their family on Christmas vacation, because they're spending all their galleons on a _muggle car!_" Goyle began to chuckle halfheartedly. After a moment, Crabbe joined him. Draco seemed satisfied and sat back in a chair.

"It's just like a Weasley," Draco said, launching into a frequently discussed subject. "Fascinated with mudbloods and muggles. It's a wonder that they're even a pureblood family, the way they get about. Especially Ron, always hanging around with Granger. What a pair of insufferable gits those two are."

Crabbe began coughing, and Goyle pounded him on the back.

"But they're not long for the school," said Pansy. "Not with the Heir around."

Draco nodded. "He's doing good work. Soon, all the mudbloods will be gone from Hogwarts, one way or another."

Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy leaned forward, enraptured by Draco's words.

"I just wish I knew who it was!" said Draco, with dramatic over-exaggeration. "I could help him. I could do something." Draco gave Harry a knowing look.

Goyle sat up. "You mean you don't know who it is?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Goyle, have you had your fingers in your ears this whole term? Draco's said that about a thousand times." After Snape's intercession, Draco had been careful to deny that he was the Heir of Slytherin. In fact, Draco had been denying it more frequently, now that he was convinced that Harry was the Heir.

Goyle slouched down again. "Oh. Yeah. I just thought, maybe, it was you, Draco."

Draco laughed. "Not at all."

Crabbe spoke up. "What about you, Harry? Are you the Heir?"

Harry scowled. "Shut your mouth, Crabbe, or I'll shut it for you. I have to put up with enough of those stupid Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors thinking I'm the Heir. I don't want to hear it from you, too."

"Yeah, Crabbe," Draco said. "Harry isn't the Heir. Absolutely not. Certainly not. Definitely not." Draco finished with a wink, and Harry rolled his eyes. Draco leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Here's something new, though. My father won't tell me much about the last time the Chamber was opened—it was before his time—but he did say that the last time the Chamber opened, a mudblood girl _died_."

This was news to Harry. "Someone was killed?"

"Yes, and it's only a matter of time before it happens again," Draco said. "Personally, I hope it's Granger, this time. That little know-it-all."

Crabbe seemed agitated, as if he was ready to leap out of his seat. Pansy put a hand on his arm, and he settled down.

"Did they ever catch the person who opened the Chamber?" Pansy asked, leaving her hand on Crabbe's arm.

_There's a new one_, thought Harry. In fact, this whole conversation was odd. Draco was the only one acting normally.

"Whoever it was got expelled," said Draco, "but that's all that Father would tell me. Father wants the mudbloods out of Hogwarts as bad as I do, but he told me to keep my head down and let the Heir of Slytherin take care of it."

Goyle opened his mouth to speak, but his voice squeaked awkwardly. He tried to speak again, and his voice immediately cracked. Golye clutched his hands to his throat and whispered, "Water," before lunging for the door.

Crabbe glanced at the clock and immediately stood. "Gonna see if he's okay," Crabbe mumbled before lumbering after Goyle.

"If those two were any thicker," said Draco, "they wouldn't be able to dress themselves in the morning."

Pansy stood up. "I think I'm going to dash to the library. I want to see if I can find anything else about the Heir of Slytherin before I go home for the rest of the holiday."

Harry laughed. "Pansy, you're starting to sound like Granger."

Pansy's face went white. "How d- How dare you!" She stormed out of the common room.

"That was nasty, Harry. I love it." Draco folded up the newspaper clipping and tucked it back in the envelope. "Fancy a game of gobstones?"

Something was tickling the back of Harry's mind. "Maybe later. I think I'll catch up with Pansy, actually."

Harry dashed out of the common room and saw Pansy only a few steps down the hallway. "Hey, wait!" Pansy continued walking away from him. "Granger!"

There was a hitch in the girl's step as she reacted to Harry's voice, but she kept walking, determinedly facing away from Harry. Harry smiled to himself and ran to catch up.

The two students walked down the hall, side by side, facing ahead and not looking at one another. For a few steps, neither said anything.

"How'd you know?" Granger asked in Pansy's voice.

"All three of you were acting strange," Harry said, "but two things stuck out. First, you said that you had forgotten a book, then you left for the library without getting it." Granger cringed, realizing her mistake. "Second, Pansy would never come back to Hogwarts for a book, and she would _never_ go to the library unless she had a paper due the next day.

Granger shrugged. "It was an imperfect plan, at best."

"And the other two must have been Ron Weasley and…"

"Neville Longbottom," said Granger.

"Longbottom? I wouldn't expect that of him." Harry was impressed. "What were you trying to do?"

"Ron is convinced that either the Heir of Slytherin is either you or Draco. He suspects you mostly because you're a Parselmouth, which I think is rather closed-minded. Draco does seem the type, though, with all his talk of mu...ggle borns."

Harry lowered his head. "I wish he wouldn't talk like that." By this time, Granger had mostly changed back to herself. Her hair had grown from Pansy's neat bob into its usual unwieldy bushyness, and was turning from black to brown before Harry's eyes.

"Why are you friends with him?" Granger asked. "You're rather nice, whenever you aren't with Draco."

"Most wizards don't treat me like a person," Harry said. "They look at my scar while they talk to me, instead of my eyes. Draco has never acted like that."

"So you like him because he's rich enough that he isn't intimidated by you?"

"No, I like him because he treats me normal." Harry wasn't comfortable talking about Draco like this, so he changed the subject. He and Granger were walking up stairs, now. "How'd you manage this, anyway? It wasn't an illusion or transfiguration, was it?"

Granger shook her head. "Polyjuice potion. Took us months to make, hiding out in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."

"Sounds dangerous. Didn't the first attack happen right outside that bathroom?"

"We needed privacy. Combine an insufferable ghost with irrational terror, and what do you get? A bathroom that nobody uses." Granger paused. "You're not going to tell anybody about this, are you?"

"Probably not. It gives me a leg up on the rest of Slytherin, knowing something that they don't." And telling just for the sake of telling… that would be mean and spiteful. It sounded like something Dudley would do.

"Thanks," said Granger.

"It also gives me something to hold over you and Weasley."

Granger grimaced. "Please don't tell Ronald. He'll be furious if he knows that I gave us away."

"I won't tell him unless it's absolutely necessary," Harry said.

"Is that the best I'm going to get?"

"You did sneak into my common room," Harry said. The two students had stopped before a portrait of a fat woman. "You could always give me the password to Gryffindor…"

"I'll take my chances with you telling Ron," Granger said with a smile. The girl turned to the portrait and mumbled a password. The portrait swung open to reveal the Gryffindor common room.

"See you around," Harry said. He turned and began walking back to Slytherin.

"Harry."

Harry turned back.

"Thanks for walking me back to Gryffindor. It was very nice of you to make sure I got back safely." Granger turned a little red. "Have a Merry Christmas." Granger ducked through the open portrait and into the Gryffindor common room.

Harry shook his head. He had hoped that she wouldn't notice.

* * *

**A/N:** _This is one of my favorite chapters. I hope you like it._


	11. Chapter 11

After Christmas Holidays, Flint had the quidditch team back on the field, practicing for the upcoming match against Ravenclaw. Harry and the rest of the team watched Ravenclaw play against Gryffindor on the Saturday after classes resumed, so the Slytherin team had a good idea of what the Ravenclaw players were capable of. Flint had the team practicing constantly as the match approached. Much to Flint's annoyance, however, the final practice before their match was scheduled for Valentine's Day.

Professor Lockhart announced at the beginning of the week of Valentine's Day that the Heir of Slytherin had fled the school and locked the chamber, because "I, Gilderoy Lockhart, was fast on his trail." Lockhart had then announced that he would be sponsoring a "pick-me-up" for the students. Lockhart's plan took the form of numerous dwarves, hairy and warty, dressed as cherubs. The dwarves scuttled around the school on Valentine's Day, reciting poorly-written poetry to the students of Hogwarts. Harry, thankfully, had managed to avoid being sent a dwarf throughout the entire day. Perhaps there was an upside to being the Heir of Slytherin.

Harry's luck ran out at quidditch practice. A dwarf stood below the team on the pitch, shouting upward at Harry. "POTTER! OI! POTTER! HARRY POTTER! POTTER! POTTER! HARRY POTTER!"

Finally, Harry lowered himself toward the ground. He stopped in the air, ten feet above the dwarf. "What do you want?"

"I have a poem for you." The dwarf hacked and coughed, then spit on the ground, preparing to sing.

"No, don't!"

"_His eyes are as green as fresh pickled toad,_

_His hair is as dark as a blackboard._

_I wish he was mine; he's really divine,_

_The hero who conquered the Dark Lord._"

The dwarf's voice was raspy and rattling, as if he had been smoking a pipe since the day he was born. As the poem went on, Harry could feel himself turning red. Once the dwarf finished singing, the Slytherin team concealed their laughter…for about ten seconds. Even Flint, the most stoic among them, was unable to prevent himself from chuckling.

"Get out of here," Harry said to the dwarf through clenched teeth. The cherubically-dressed dwarf scampered away. Harry turned to the rest of the team. "Be quiet, all of you! The next person to laugh gets a hex right in the eye!" The team immediately fell quiet. Only Draco was still smirking.

Again, Harry considered that there might be a bright side to being the Heir of Slytherin.

*!*!*!*!*

Several weeks later, Harry was back at the quidditch pitch, along with the majority of the students at Hogwarts, ready to watch the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match. Not that the match would have any effect on the quidditch cup standings—Slytherin had demolished Ravenclaw, 410 to 40, and was leading for the cup by almost one thousand points. But, as always, almost everybody turned out for a good quidditch match. Only a few oddball students remained indoors—Harry caught a glimpse of Hermione Granger, for example, ducking into the library.

On the way to the pitch, Harry once again heard the strange, whispering voice. Harry glanced around, trying to find its source, but in the thick crowd it was impossible. Before Harry could locate the voice, the crowd swept him along the hallway and away from the voice. Harry shook his head. He hadn't told anyone else about the voice, but he was starting to feel that it was connected to the attacks. He had heard it twice before, and each time somebody had wound up petrified.

Twenty minutes later, just before the match began, Professor McGonnegal took over the loudspeaker. "The quidditch match is cancelled. Students will return to their dormitories immediately. Prefects, organize your houses and lead them to your dormitories."

Gryffindor and Hufflepuff began booing. The Slytherin students immediately started speculating—what could be so important that a quidditch match would be cancelled? The obvious answer was another petrification.

As Harry entered the castle he saw McGonnegal pull Ron Weasley out of the Gryffindor group. Harry wasn't able to hear what she said, but he saw McGonnegal showing Weasley a small mirror. Weasley looked stricken.

Harry glanced at the Gryffindors: there were five red heads clearly visible: four tall boys, and a smaller girl. It wasn't one of Ron's family members, then. Who else would Ron get so upset about?

Granger. Of course. And Harry's speculation turned out to be correct.

"Hermione Granger and Penelope Clearwater were found petrified outside the library this afternoon," Snape said. He stood in front of the assembled Slytherin house in their common room. "In response to the latest attack, a curfew will be imposed. No student will leave the common room after six o'clock in the evening. All students will be escorted to classes by a teacher. Quidditch will suspended." Pansy Parkinson's hand shot into the air. "Yes, Ms. Parkinson?"

"Professor, what about my party?" Pansy had been planning her birthday party for several weeks. All signs suggested that it would be even more extravagant than last year's affair.

"Your party," said Snape, "is cancelled until further notice."

Pansy slumped down, a look of crushing disappointment on her face. In fact, nobody was happy about the latest turn of events, except for Draco. "If only Granger would have died," Draco said later. "Then it would have been perfect!"

The latest petrification reminded Harry that he had been invited by Hagrid to visit and discuss the Chamber of Secrets. That night, despite the newly-imposed curfew, Harry donned his invisibility cloak and went to visit his large friend.

"What're you doin' here fer?" Hagrid asked when he found Harry standing outside his door.

"You told me that I could come and talk to you about the Chamber," Harry said.

"Right, that I did," said Hagrid. "Bin expectin' sommat else, but we can talk. I'll make tea." Once both Hagrid and Harry were seated with tea, Hagrid let out a deep sigh. "Well, what do yer want ter know?"

"Anything," Harry said. "I want to know anything I can." Granger wasn't a _close_ friend, but she certainly was _a _friend. The attacks had suddenly become very personal.

"It were 'bout fifty years ago, Harry. It were a bad time for me. Muggleborn students were bein' attacked, and nobody felt safe. Dumbledore wann't even the Headmaster then. It was a feller named Dippet. I was jus' in my third year when the Chamber were opened." Hagrid took a sip of his tea. Harry remained quiet, worried that any sound he made would break Hagrid's nerve.

"I've always bin' innerested in magical creatures, Harry. Unicorns an' rocs an' dragons… fascinatin'. That year, I found myself an acromantuler egg, hidden way in the back of Professor Slughorn's potions cabinet. Fantastic thing, that. Acromantulers are really rare, an' their eggs are even rarer. I dinn't want it to be used in some stinkin' potion, so I snuck it out. An' once I had snuck it out… I hatched it."

"What's an acromantuler, Hagrid?"

"AcromantuLAH," Hagrid said, over-exaggerating the end of the word to compensate for his accent. "Giant spider. They kin grow up ter ten foot tall. Poisonous, too. Real beauties. But Agragog was just a lil' tike—"

"Who?"

"Agragog, that's what I called 'im. The acromantuler. 'E was jus' a lil' tike when Tom Riddle caught me with 'im."

"Is that… Hagrid? Is that how you got expelled?"

The large man let out a deep sigh. "Yes. Riddle wouldn' let me git a word in. 'E got convinced that Agragog were the one petrifyin' people, and that I was makin' 'im. Before I could do anythin', 'e dragged me to Dippet and I were expelled. Snapped my wand an' everythin'."

"And after that, the attacks stopped?"

"Yer right about that, Harry. Can't explain it, meself."

"Could it have been Agragog?"

"No," said Hagrid. " Acromantulers can't petrify things. If they attack a person, they eat 'em." Harry blanched, and Hagrid quickly spoke again. "Not that 'e would've eaten anybody, because 'e wouldn't've. 'E knew I wouldn't approve. I'm sure of it."

Harry thought for a moment. What else did he want to know about the previous attacks?

"Hagrid, a muggleborn girl got killed. Who was she? How did it happen?"

"Yeh could ask 'er yerself, Harry. Poor M-"

Hagrid was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Harry threw his invisibility cloak over his shoulders and backed into a corner. Hagrid opened the door and discovered Dumbledore standing on his stoop. Behind Dumbledore was a short man in a striped suit and a bowler hat.

"Professor Dumbledore. Minister Fudge. Whatter surprise." Hagrid did not sound surprised, but he did sound nervous. "Come in, come in. Would yer like some tea? I have some on." Hagrid grabbed his teacup and began refilling it.

"Yes, thank you," said Dumbledore, smoothly walking to the table and lifting Harry's cup. Hagrid filled Dumbledore's teacup, then made a third cup for Fudge. The three wizards sat around Hagrid's table. Dumbledore glanced to the corner of the room—for a moment, Harry was certain that Dumbledore knew he was there. The headmaster looked away as Fudge began to speak.

"Mr. Hagrid," said Fudge, "we've come on serious business."

"I've bin' expectin' yer teh come," said Hagrid. "Surprised it's bin' this long, actually."

"Dumbledore's protection extends very far in the halls of Hogwarts," said Fudge. "It cannot protect you forever, though."

"I will tell you again, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence." Dumbledore's eyes were not twinkling—they were as hard as ice. "Removing Hagrid from the grounds of Hogwarts will not help in the slightest."

"Dumbledore, something has to be done. The Ministry cannot sit by while muggleborn students are attacked. And meanwhile, living on the grounds of Hogwarts is a wizard who was nearly sent to Azkaban fifty years ago, for an identical series of attacks! If it turns out that Hagrid had nothing to do with the attacks, then he'll be back immediately. But we have to take him."

"Take me where?" asked Hagrid. He seemed resigned to being taken, but his voice still quavered with terror.

Fudge turned to Hagrid. "Rubeus Hagrid, at the request of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a minor magistrate of the Wizangamot has issued a warrant for your arrest. Out of courtesy to Headmaster Dumbledore, I have arrived to personally conduct you to Azkaban."

There was a knock on the door. Harry looked away from the table and was surprised to see Mr. Malfoy standing in the door of Hagrid's hut.

"I was told," said Mr. Malfoy, "that I would find the Albus Dumbledore in the gamekeeper's home. I daresay that I wouldn't call this a 'home,' but, such as it is…"

"How can I help you, Lucius?" asked Dumbledore.

"Dreadful business, this, but the Board of Governors feel that it is time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Supsension, Mr. Dumbledore." Lucius emphasized the word "Mister."

"See here," said Fudge. "Nobody would want Dumbledore suspended. Not now…"

"The number of attacks, and the severity… something must be done. The Board feels that Mr. Dumbledore is losing his touch. You will find all twelve signatures on the board's order."

"An' how many did yeh threaten an' blackmail an' bribe, Malfoy?" Hagrd was on his feet, looming over the table.

"My, my," said Lucius. "I understand why Hagrid is being taken to Azkaban. Losing control of his temper like that… nobody knows what might happen."

Dumbledore looked up from the Order of Suspension. "If the Board of Governors feels that I should step aside, then I must step aside," said Dumbledore looking back and forth from Fudge to Malfoy. "_However_, I think you will find that I have only truly left this school when none here are loyal to me. Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it." Dumbledore looked at the corner where Harry stood, for the second time giving Harry the uncanny impression that Dumbledore was aware of his presence.

Dumbledore stepped outside of the hut, and waited for Hagrid with a placid expression on his face. As Hagrid stepped outside the door, he said loudly, "Someone'll need ter feed Fang while I'm away."

"I will arrange for it," said Dumbledore, quickly covering for the non sequitur.

After Hagrid closed his door, Harry collapsed to the floor. No Hagrid. No Dumbledore. No protection from the Heir.

Harry sure hoped that Mr. Malfoy knew what he was doing.

* * *

**A/N:** _Harry gets to see a different aspect of Lucius during this chapter. But without a predisposition to hate the Malfoys, Lucius's actions don't seem quite as sinister._

_ Only four more chapters to go, after this one!_


	12. Chapter 12

The day after Hagrid's arrest, Draco announced at lunch that Hagrid was the wizard who had been expelled from Hogwarts fifty years ago, when the Chamber of Secrets had first been opened.

"I'm glad that oaf is locked up again," Draco said.

"He's my friend," insisted Harry. "And don't you realize how stupid you sound? If there's one person who ISN'T the Heir of Slytherin, it's Hagrid. He doesn't have enough cunning to make a proper cup of tea, and we all know that." Harry knew from his conversation with Dumbledore that Hagrid wasn't the Heir, but he had promised not to tell. Instead, he was left to defend his friend with logic.

"Father finally told me the whole story," said Draco. "Fifty years ago, the Chamber was opened. Students were petrified, and a mudblood girl was killed. The head boy, Tom Riddle, caught Hagrid with a dangerous beast."

"It was an acromantula," said Harry. "They can't petrify people. You can look it up in any book."

Draco waved his hand, dismissing the argument. "Hagrid was expelled and his wand was snapped. Riddle even got a special award for services to the school; it's in the trophy case if you want to see it. After Hagrid was expelled, the attacks stopped. What other proof do you need?"

It was difficult for Harry to admit, but the circumstances weighed against Hagrid. Not only had Hagrid been involved in the prior Chamber of Secrets incident, but his love for exotic animals was well known—the more dangerous, the better. Harry fell silent, conceding that he wouldn't win the argument without betraying Dumbledore's confidence.

McGonagall, as Deputy Headmistress, assumed Dumbledore's duties in his absence. She managed the school ably, but the mood around Hogwarts had become distinctly sullen. Dumbledore and Hagrid were generally popular with the students, with Draco being one a few notable exceptions.

Finally, there came the announcement that Harry had been dreading. McGonagall's magically amplified voice echoed through the hallways of Hogwarts: _All students to return to their House Dormitories at once. All teachers to the staff room. Immediately, please._

The vague nature of the announcement was clearly an attempt to avoid alarming the students. The lack of specificity made it obvious to Harry that something truly horrible had occurred. As Harry and Draco walked toward their dormitory, they passed the original message from the Heir of Slytherin, which Filch had been unable to remove from the wall. Below was a new message, written in fresh blood: _Her body will lie in the Chamber forever._

Draco was excited. "This is it, Harry. The Heir has finally killed a mudblood and Hogwarts will be closed for the year! Dumbledore will never recover from this. My father will be next in line as Headmaster, I bet! Or maybe Snape!"

"Draco, if they can't stop the Heir, Hogwarts will never reopen."

"Then we'll both go to Durmstrang! Harry, this is great news."

"You realize that this means that Hagrid isn't the Heir, right?"

Draco was stopped for a moment by the force of Harry's logic. "He probably has an accomplice. Or something."

Once in Slytherin, Harry and Draco were informed by their prefects that Hogwarts would, in fact, be closing for the year. Students would remain at Hogwarts for one more night. They would be confined to their dormitories for their safety, and to provide time for the students to pack their belongings. Tomorrow morning, all students would be returning home via the Hogwarts Express. Students would be escorted to dinner by house prefects.

At dinner, the members of Slytherin were desperate to determine who had been taken into the Chamber.

"We just have to see which mudblood is missing," said Draco, looking around the Great Hall.

While Draco and Pansy surveyed the Hufflepuffs, Harry's eye was drawn to the Gryffindor table, where Ron Weasley seemed despondent. Weasley had been much quieter after Granger's petrification, but this seemed worse, somehow. Fred, George and Percy Weasley had similar expressions on their faces. Harry looked to see if the youngest Weasley was also distraught, but the redheaded girl was missing from the Gryffindor table.

"Draco, I think it's the Weasley girl."

Draco scoffed and continued surveying the Hufflepuffs. "She's a pureblood. A blood traitor, no doubt, but still a pureblood. The Heir would never take her."

Harry wasn't sure. After dinner, Harry found Ron slowly dragging his feet toward Gryffindor tower. The hallway was quickly becoming empty, as the remained of the student body rushed toward the relative safety of their common rooms. As Harry started speaking, the last of the students turned the corner, leaving Harry and Weasley alone.

"Oi, Weasley. I didn't see your sister at dinner."

Ron's wand was suddenly drawn and pointed at Harry's nose. "You shut up about her, you snake!"

Harry held up his hands. "Weasley, hold on. I just didn't see her at dinner. Is she okay?"

"You did this! It's you and your stupid Slytherins!"

"I didn't do anything Weasley."

"I know it's you, Potter. I know it!"

Harry's temper snapped. "Dammit, Weasley, if I was the Heir of Slytherin I would have killed you at Christmas!" Ron's mouth dropped open and he lowered his wand a fraction. Harry slapped the wand away from his face.

"How do you know about that?" Ron asked.

"I figured out that Granger was impersonating Pansy. While you and Longbottom were off saving your own hides, I made sure that Granger got back to Gryffindor tower safely. If I were the Heir, I would have killed her then. And I would have killed you and Longbottom for daring to trespass in my common room. But here you are, still alive and stupid, because I AM NOT THE HEIR!" By the time Harry finished speaking, he was screaming, inches from Weasley's face.

Ron turned away. All his anger was gone. Harry could see that, under the rage, the Gryffindor boy was barely holding himself together. "She's in the Chamber, okay? My sister. Ginny. McGonagall told us before dinner. I keep telling myself there's a chance Ginny's okay, but…" Ron paused, obviously struggling to hold back tears. "But I know I'm never going see her again."

"Come on, Weasley. The professors are looking for her."

Ron shook his head. "Nobody will go to the Chamber. I heard McGonagall and Snape talking to Lockhart about it. Lockhart said he knew where it was. The teachers told him to go and save her, but I know he's a fraud. He's too scared to go. And even if he did show us where it was, none of the professors would fight a basilisk."

"A what?"

Ron reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. "Hermione figured it out. I found this in her hand when I visited her in the hospital wing, after she got petrified. The 'horror' of the Chamber is a basilisk. It's a giant serpent whose gaze will kill anybody who makes eye contact."

"You told the professors about this, right?" Harry said.

"Nobody cared," Ron said. "They listened to a word or two, then ignored me."

"Maybe it isn't a basilisk," Harry said. "Nobody has been killed…" Harry mentally ticked through the list of victims. "…because everybody has been seeing it through reflections and ghosts and cameras. They aren't getting the direct look, so they're just petrified. Ron, there's a chance the same thing happened to your sister!"

"Did you read the message on the wall, or were you too thick to understand it?" Ron's voice quavered. "Her body will lie in the Chamber forever, Potter."

"C'mon Ron," said Harry, grabbing Ron by the arm. "We're going to go talk to somebody about this."

Which is how the boys wound up in the office of Severus Snape.

Snape's office was gloomy and dark, much like Professor Snape himself. There were portions ingredients on shelves throughout the room, and a large, dark wood cabinet stood against one wall. The cabinet was always locked, and Harry suspected that it contained dangerous and rare ingredients for potions.

Ron was too intimidated to speak directly to Professor Snape. Instead, it fell to Harry to explain why they suspected a basilisk, and why Ginny might still be alive to be rescued.

Initially, Snape's face was hard and skeptical. But, as Harry forged deeper into the explanation, he saw Snape's face soften, and then grow curious. But by the time that Harry had finished speaking, Snape's face was once again an impassive mask.

"Potter, Weasley, thank you for informing the staff of your discovery regarding the basilisk. Unfortunately, there is little we can do, as we do not know the location of the Chamber."

"Yes, you do!" Ron protested. It was the first time he had spoken in the meeting. He seemed shocked at the volume of his voice, but he forged onward. "Yesterday I heard you say that Professor Lockhart knew where it was!"

"If Professor Lockhart's magical talent were half the size of his ego, he would be a wizard to rival Albus Dumbledore. Alas, such is not the case. Lockhart is full of hot air. I have never met a bigger windbag in all my years of teaching." Ron and Harry looked at one another with surprise—the students had been expressing similar sentiments all year, but it was shocking to hear a professor articulate their feelings so clearly.

"Professor, the basilisk is a serpent, so it would speak parseltongue, correct?" Harry asked.

Snape nodded. "Correct, Potter."

Harry suddenly sat erect. "Then that's the voice I've been hearing!" Snape and Ron both looked at Harry oddly. "I've been hearing a strange voice all year long… I didn't want to tell anybody, because they'd think I was crazy. But the first time I heard it was just before we found Mrs. Norris on Halloween. Then I heard it again, just before I found Finch-Fletchey, and again the morning before Hermione was attacked. I've been hearing the basilisk!" shouted Harry. "I'm not going crazy, I've just been hearing the basilisk moving around the school!"

Snape shook his head. "Potter, if a beast of that size moved that freely around the school, surely somebody would have discovered it by now."

Ron slammed the crumpled piece of paper on Snape's desk and pointed at a note written in the clear handwriting of Hermione Granger. "PIPES! It's using the pipes! Hermione figured it out!"

Snape looked at the paper and slowly raised his eyebrows. "Indeed, that would be possible. Again, I am impressed, Mr. Weasley, but that still does not tell us the location of the Chamber."

Harry smiled slowly. "Yes, sir, it does." Hagrid's last, interrupted sentence finally made sense. "Professor, Mrs. Norris was petrified because she only saw a reflection of the basilisk in a puddle of water outside a flooded bathroom. Both of the Heir's messages were written outside a bathroom. And where better to gain access to the pipes than a bathroom?"

"I find it unlikely that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is hidden in a lavatory," Snape said.

"But there's a way we can know for sure," Harry said. "Fifty years ago, a girl was killed when the Chamber of Secrets was opened. Hagrid told me that I could ask her how she was killed. We need to ask Moaning Myrtle how she died."

Snape's eye brows drew together, and he made a small sound of surprise. "There is no time to waste. This mystery must be solved immediately. The two of you will follow me. Potter, if you hear any mysterious voices, inform me immediately."

Snape stood and swept out of the room, wand drawn. Harry and Ron trotted behind. Harry gave Ron a small, hopeful smile. There was a chance that things would work out, after all. Even though Ron might not like it, Harry thought that Snape was a great wizard. If there was anybody left in the school who could save Ginny, Harry was sure that it was Snape.

* * *

**A/N:** _Thank you, reviewers, for your kind words._


	13. Chapter 13

Ron was the first into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. "MYRTLE! MYRTLE! WE NEED TO TALK TO YOU!"

Harry and Snape followed more cautiously, wands drawn. Nothing in the bathroom seemed to be out of place, which was both reassuring (no danger) and concerning (no Ginny).

There was a gush and a splash from a nearby toilet. Both Snape and Harry trained their wands on the source of the commotion, only to discover that the source was Myrtle herself.

"Oh," said the ghost. "I thought you wanted to speak with me, not hex me. Everybody is always trying to hex poor Myrtle…" Moaning Myrtle turned and crouched, preparing to leap back into the toilet.

"No, wait!" Harry cried. "We need to ask you a question!"

"So you do want to talk to me?" Myrtle said.

"Yes," said Ron abruptly. "How did you die?"

Myrtle crossed her arms. "How offensive! That's a terribly personal question!"

"We need to know!" Ron said.

"But I don't need to tell you," Myrtle said, sticking her nose in the air.

Snape stepped forward. "Ghost, I am Severus Snape, a teacher at this school. I order you to tell us how you died. If you do not, I vow that I will see you exorcised."

"Fantastic," Myrtle said sarcastically. "Then I can finally get out of this toilet."

"Myrtle, please," Harry said with a note of pleading in his voice. Both Ron and Snape were being rude, and Harry could see that Myrtle would need to be _convinced_. "Ron's sister is in trouble. If you don't help us, she could die… and we think it might be the same way that you died."

"Hmm…" Myrtle tilted her head back and forth. "Maybe it would be nice to have some company around here…"

Ron's eyes widened as he realized what Myrtle meant. "She's only eleven!"

"Come on, Myrtle," Harry said. "You don't like being cooped up in this bathroom, do you?"

"It stinks," said Myrtle.

"You wouldn't want that to happen to somebody else, would you?"

"I guess not…" Myrtle said slowly.

"Then we need your help. We need to find out what happened to Ron's sister. And if we know how you died, that might give us the clue to solve the mystery." Harry's voice was soft and smooth.

"Well…"

"Please, Myrtle? You're the only one who can help us." Harry felt like he was laying it on really thick, but it seemed to be what Myrtle wanted.

"Okay. But there's not much to tell," said Myrtle. "I came out of the stall there on the end, and I saw two giant orange eyes. And that was it. The next thing I knew, I was a ghost, floating above these toilets."

"What a load of rubbish!" Ron exclaimed. "That doesn't tell us anything!"

"Well, YOU'RE the one who wanted MY help! It isn't easy to talk about!" Myrtle shouted. It sounded as if she were beginning to cry. With a wail, she dove into the nearest toilet. A sarcastic cry of, "You're WELCOME!" echoed up from the pipes as she fled.

Ron turned to Snape. "What do we do now?"

Harry was distracted, though. Myrtle had said that she saw the eyes as she came out of the last bathroom stall. Obviously, the basilisk hadn't been inside the bathroom when Myrtle had entered. Which meant that the basilisk either followed her inside, or it had come from within the bathroom itself. If it came from outside, then Harry and Ron and Snape were no closer to finding the location of the Chamber than they had been at the beginning of the term. Harry had to assume that it had come from inside the bathroom… because it was Ginny's only chance.

Harry walked over to the last stall and stepped inside. This was where Myrtle had been standing when she saw the eyes. She was coming out, and looking directly at… a sink. A sink no different from any other sink in the bathroom.

Except that it was.

Harry crossed the bathroom quickly. There was something strange about this sink. The faucet and handles were different. All the other faucets appeared to be normal, albeit ornate, pieces of plumbing. But this faucet was a snake's mouth, and the handles on either side were the scaled bodies of snakes. The symbols of Salazar Slytherin.

Harry grabbed the nearest handle. Maybe the faucet was the trigger to the Chamber of Secrets. Harry tried to turn first one handle, then the other, but they refused to move.

"Potter. What are you doing?" asked Snape.

Both Snape and Ron were looking at Harry strangely. Harry ignored them and continued to tug at the handles.

"This sink is different," Harry said. "It's snakes. It can't be a coincidence." Harry braced himself against the wall with his foot, puting his full body weight behind his attempt to turn the handle.

"You believe that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is triggered by a washbasin?" said Snape. "This is… unlikely."

"Then why won't it turn?" asked Harry.

"Because nobody has used this bathroom in years!" shouted Ron despondently. Tears were welling up behind his eyes.

Harry turned his attention back to the faucet. He would give it one more go. "There's no reason to stick," he hissed under his breath. "Just open!"

Harry gave a mighty tug, and the handle turned easily. There was a deep rumble, and the tiles of the bathroom began to slide and rearrange themselves. Harry stepped back and Snape simultaneously stepped forward, placing himself between the boys and the freshly-opened Chamber of Secrets.

"Blimey," said Ron quietly.

"An inspired thought, to use parseltongue," Snape said. Harry hadn't even realized that he had done it. "What did you say?"

"Er, I just got mad and told it to open up."

Snape grunted. "Indeed. What use would Salazar have for a password when he was the world's only known parselmouth?" Snape turned back to the boys. "Both of you. Outside the bathroom. Now."

Once the three wizards were outside the bathroom, Snape spoke quickly and firmly.

"Potter, Weasley, you will go and find Professor McGonagall. Tell her that I require her help."

Ron protested. "But my SISTER is in there!"

"You are second year students. You are not capable of facing the Heir of Slytherin." Snape turned his gaze toward the bathroom. "Perhaps none of us are. I may be able to delay the Heir long enough for Professor McGonagall to arrive and assist me. Together, the two of us may stand a chance…" Snape seemed to be speaking more to himself than to the boys.

Harry nodded. "We'll find Professor McGonagall, sir."

"Good." Before Snape could re-enter the bathroom, a figure rushed into the hallway, levitating several trunks.

"Oh, hello Severus," said Gilderoy Lockhart.

Snape smiled. "Gilderoy. How fortuitous. I am about to enter the Chamber of Secrets in an attempt to rescue the young Miss Weasley. Will you accompany me?"

Lockhart blanched. "Well, I, er… urgent call, you see…"

Snape shook his head. "Now is not the time for excuses. If you are any sort of wizard, you will join me now."

Lockhart carefully set his trunks at the side of the hall. He held his wand in front of his body, and Harry could see his hand shaking with nervousness. White faced, Lockhart followed Snape into the bathroom.

Harry and Ron started down the hall, heading toward Gryffindor tower to look for McGonagall. Just as they were about to turn the corner, they heard a bang from the bathroom.

"You hear that?" Harry asked. Ron nodded. "Why would they be casting spells already?"

"We should go back and check," said Ron.

Harry shook his head. "I think we should go for McGonagall."

"If something's gone wrong, we might not have time!" Before Harry could say anything, Ron was running back to the bathroom. Harry sighed, then followed.

Harry and Ron entered the bathroom with wands drawn, prepared to battle the Heir of Slytherin. Instead, they found Professor Lockhart crouching over Snape's unconscious body. Lockhart was muttering to himself. "The intrepid hero, Gilderoy Lockhart, has stunned the evil Professor Snape. Our hero will perform a quick memory charm, and escape the haunted school…"

"What are you doing?" shouted Harry.

Lockhart spun and raised his wand. "Boys! Shouldn't you be getting help? The Heir of Slytherin has knocked Professor Snape unconscious!"

Harry shook his head. "You're the only one here. And I just heard you say that you stunned Professor Snape."

A dark look crossed Lockhart's face. "Memory charms all around, then. Only spell I'm any good at, really."

"What about my sister?" asked Ron.

"Tragic," Lockhart said. His voice changed, and became slightly deeper, as if he were speaking to an audience. "Indeed, despite the valiant efforts of our hero and two students, the wicked Severus Snape, Heir of Slytherin, had already slain poor Ginny Weasley."

"What are you talking about?" Ron blurted.

Lockhart snapped out of his reverie. "Stand still, boys. This won't hurt at all. _Obliviate._"

Harry and Ron dove in opposite directions, dodging Lockhart's spell. As Harry flew through the air, he thrust his wand at Lockhart. "_Expelliarmus!_"

Harry's spell caught Lockhart square in the chest, blasting him across the room and through the opening to the Chamber of Secrets. There was a long silence, then the sound of a faraway splash. Lockhart's wand fell to the floor of the bathroom with a clatter. Harry picked it up and tucked it into his robes.

Harry and Ron stood and walked to Snape's frozen body.

"Do you know how to un-stun somebody?" asked Harry.

"No," replied Ron. "I wish Hermione was here."

Harry nodded. "Me, too.

"Up to us then," Ron said. He raised his wand, which still had not been repaired, and turned to the opening where Lockhart had disappeared. "Into the Chamber."

"Ron, I still think we should get McGonagall."

"There's no time. I'm going. You get McGonagall, if you want." Ron stepped forward and dove through the entrance.

"Wait!" Harry shouted, but it was too late. Ron was gone.

Harry looked down at Snape. "I know what you're thinking. Risk versus reward, right? Risk: I might be killed by the Voldemort, the Heir of Slytherin. Reward: Ron, Ginny and I all survive, and we defeat a scourge that has plagued Hogwarts for half a century. High risk, high reward." Harry walked over to the entrance to the Chamber, picking up Lockhart's wand on the way. "That dumb Gryffindor didn't even take Lockhart's wand. He doesn't stand a chance without me. And you said it yourself, Professor. There's no time to waste."

Harry leapt through the entrance.

After sliding through a pipe for what seemed like an hour, Harry was spat out into a dark corridor. He stood and found that he was covered in grime. Several steps away, similarly disgusting, was Ron Weasley.

"In other circumstances," said Harry, "That would have been fun." Harry reached into his robes to give Lockhart's wand to Ron, but it wand was gone. Harry had lost it somewhere on the slide. They'd never find it in the darkness.

"Wait a second," said Ron. "Where's Lockhart?"

Lockhart dove out of the darkness, tackling Ron and seizing his wand. He stood and triumphantly incanted, "_Obliviate!_"

Ron's broken wand, shabbily repaired by Lockhart himself, exploded with the force of a small bomb. Harry was thrown farther down the hall, while Ron and Lockhart were hurled backwards. Between them, the ceiling of the corridor collapsed, blocking the tunnel.

Harry stood and dusted himself off. "Weasley! Are you okay?"

Weasley's sarcastic voice was faint through the rocks. "Sure, that was a right laugh!"

Harry cracked a small smile. "What about Lockhart?"

"He keeps asking where we are. I think the memory charm backfired."

"Can you dig through the rocks?" Harry asked.

"With what wand?"

Harry looked down at the wand in his own hand. He could clear a path to Ron, but it would take so much time... Ron wouldn't be any use in a fight… Or they could try to climb back up the pipe and find a professor, but that would take even longer…

Harry knew what he had to do.

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"I want you to know. Last Christmas, when we went exploring with my invisibility cloak? That was the best Christmas I've ever had." Harry took a deep breath. "Try to climb back up the tunnel, Ron. Get McGonagall or Flitwick. I'm going after your sister."

Ron's voice was quiet. "Thank you, Harry."

"Wish me luck."

"Good luck… mate," said Ron.

Harry turned and walked further down the corridor. In the oppressive darkness of the tunnel, the light from his wand felt dim and insignificant, and Harry remembered Snape's words outside the bathroom.

_You are only a second year students_._ You are not capable of facing the Heir of Slytherin. Perhaps none of us are…_


	14. Chapter 14

Harry walked deeper into the tunnel, toward the Chamber of Secrets. He held his wand aloft, a _lumos_ charm lighting the way. Finally, after a great distance, the hallway widened into a massive underground chamber. In the center of the chamber lay the still and pale body of Ginny Weasley, clutching a small book in her hands. Harry ran to her side, dropping his wand to the ground.

"Weasley!" The girl was warm to the touch, but didn't respond. "Weasley, wake up!"

"That won't do much good," said a calm voice. Harry looked up to find a tall, good looking young man standing nearby. The young man was dressed in Slytherin robes, similar to Harry's but different in some of the small details. The young man was strangely blurry, as if he were smudged at the edges, but his face seemed familiar. In his hands was Harry's wand.

"Who are you?" Harry asked.

"Tom Riddle," replied the young man. "A name of no consequence."

"Tom Riddle? But you- fifty years ago! You helped close the Chamber of Secrets! How are you here?"

Riddle smiled. "I'm a memory. A memory from a diary, held there for fifty years."

Harry didn't understand, but things were urgent. "Tom, the Heir of Slytherin has released a basilisk. We-"

"I know."

"Good! We have to get out of here!"

Tom smiled. "Only one of us is leaving here today, Harry Potter."

And Harry suddenly understood why he recognized Tom Riddle's face. Harry had seen it before, at the end of last year, in the Mirror of Erised. Everything made sense.

"So that's why you turned in Hagrid fifty years ago, isn't it?" said Harry. "You framed him, because you're the Heir of Slytherin."

Tom smile grew wider. "Clever! You are a true Slytherin!"

"What have you done to Ginny?"

"Nothing she hasn't done to herself. The girl started writing in my diary, and was too foolish to be suspicious when the diary wrote back. With just a little encouragement, she poured her soul into that diary. 'Oh, I met Harry Potter at the bookstore today.' 'Oh, Harry is so good at quidditch, it's too bad that he's in Slytherin.' 'Oh, I sent Harry a valentine, and I'm so embarrassed. '_His eyes are green as fresh pickled toad/His hair is as dark as a blackboard/I wish he was mine, He's really divine/Our hero who conquered the Dark Lord._'" Tom made a nasty face, and Harry caught a glimpse of how Voldemort would become the horrible parasite that had existed on the back of Quirrell's head. "What rubbish. The stupid girl put too much of herself into my diary, and there wasn't anything she could do when my diary started putting itself into her."

"What do you mean?" Harry thought he understood quite well, but he needed time to find a way out of his situation.

"Under my direction, Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. Ginny Weasley killed the roosters at Hogwarts. Ginny Weasley terrorized the mudbloods that defile this school. And in a few short moments, Ginny Weasley will be completely consumed, and I will return to life." Tom smiled. "When I have returned to my full power, Harry Potter, I will have many questions for you."

"Like what?" Harry was glancing around the room, searching for any kind of help.

"How did you defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort? How did you defeat the most powerful dark wizard of all time, escaping with only a scar?"

"You mean the most powerful dark wizard of all time doesn't already know the answer?" And there it was. Tom Riddle's curiosity had reminded Harry of his mother's blood protections. That was the key to once again defeating Voldemort.

Tom Riddle laughed. "So, you already know my true name, the real identity of the Heir of Slytherin. You are quite clever, Harry Potter. We will see if that cleverness makes you a match for Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard in history."

Harry took heart in Voldemort's overconfidence. Harry was reasonably sure that he could defeat Voldemort the same way he had last year. He just needed to get close enough to touch the dark wizard.

Harry stood and began walking to one side, never taking his eyes off Voldemort. As he circled, Harry's steps took him closer and closer, as if he were being slowly sucked into a whirlpool. Voldemort turned in place, facing Harry the entire time.

"You're not the greatest wizard," Harry said. "You know it, and you've always known it. If you were the greatest wizard in history, you wouldn't have framed Hagrid and closed the Chamber fifty years ago. You were scared of Dumbledore, scared that he would catch you."

"THERE IS NO EQUAL TO LORD VOLDEMORT!" Riddle's's face was contorted with rage.

"No equal, because Dumbledore is better." Harry smirked. His steps took him slowly closer to the spirit.

Voldemort screamed at Harry. "TELL ME, BOY! TELL ME HOW YOU DEFEATED ME!" Voldemort's voice grew cold. "Tell me, and I will let you live… a little while longer."

"My mother died for me. Her blood magic protects me, even now. You can't touch me, Voldemort." With that, Harry dove at the ghost, arms wide, ready to tackle and wrestle Voldemort to the ground.

Harry passed directly through Voldemort, as if the dark wizard were nothing more than mist.

Voldemort chuckled. "Blood magic. A powerful protection, indeed. That explains much. I had wondered if you were another Dark Lord, perhaps taking possession of a child's body…" Voldemort turned to face Harry, who was still crouched on the ground. "Certainly you have noticed the strange likenesses between us? Both orphans. Both half-bloods. Both raised by muggles. Indeed, you are a parselmouth, or else you would not have been able to enter the Chamber of Secrets. We even look quite a bit alike." Harry ran a hand through his hair, uncomfortable with the comparison. Voldemort continued: "But if it is mere blood magic that protects you from me, there is nothing to protect you from my basilisk."

Voldemort turned and hissed in the strange, sibilant voice that Harry had come to recognize as parseltongue. "_Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four._" Voldemort glanced over his shoulder. "It is time to die, Harry Potter."

From the back of the Chamber, an enormous serpent arose and slithered forward. Harry averted his eyes, avoiding the serpent's petrifying gaze.

_Kill him,_ ordered Voldemort. The shadow of the enormous beast stretched forward as the serpent drew back to strike.

Harry, keeping his eyes down, raised his hand and voice. _Please, don't!_

The shadow froze.

_What is this?_ asked the basilisk. _How can there be two Speakers?_

_Obey my orders_, demanded Voldemort. _Kill the intruder._

Harry's mind worked feverishly. _I am a member of Slytherin House. The Chamber of Secrets should not be opened to attack Slytherin's own._

The basilisk hesitated. _But… I must obey Slytherin's heir…_

Voldemort's voice was strong. _I am Lord Voldemort, bearer of the ring of Salazar Slytherin. The spirit of Salazar Slytherin is alive in me. The blood of Salazar Slytherin flows within my veins, passed to me by my mother. I am the Heir of Slytherin. Obey me._

The shadow began to sway. _I must obey the blood…_ hissed the basilisk.

Harry spoke quickly. _I speak your tongue. I was sorted into Slytherin house, and the spirit of Slytherin is alive in me._ Harry bent and picked up a sharp rock from the ground. He hoped that the basilisk was speaking literally when it said that it must obey the blood. Still averting his eyes, Harry slashed the rock across his palm, and blood welled up from the jagged cut. _The blood of Slytherin flows in my veins._ Harry glanced sideways at the specter of Voldemort._ If you are the Heir, then where is your blood, Tom Riddle?_

Voldemort drew back, stunned. _Kill him!_

The serpent inhaled sharply. _The blood… The spirit of Slytherin in the blood…_

Harry's voice was calm. _I am the blood. I am the spirit. I am the Heir of Slytherin. Obey me. Do not attack._

The voice of the basilisk became calm. _I will obey. My eyes are closed for you, Heir of Slytherin._

Harry looked upward. The basilisk had closed its eyes and waited, head raised and body coiled, in the center of the chamber.

Voldemort's face, so handsome when calm, had become a hideous expression of anger. "Potter. You fool. You have cost me a valuable ally." Voldemort clasped both his hands around Harry's wand. A green light surrounded the wand, then blazed forth to form a fiery scimitar.

Voldemort leaped up at the basilisk, whose eyes were still closed. Before Harry could shout a warning, Voldemort drew the sword through the serpent's neck, severing its head. The basilisk's head fell open-mouthed to the floor, where its sabre-like teeth snapped and scattered across the Chamber.

Voldemort landed and turned slowly to face Harry. The fiery sword flickered and died, and Voldemort was once again holding only Harry's wand. "I may not yet have a body, but I have magic enough to kill you, Harry Potter." Voldemort waved the wand at a small rock. The rock rose into the air, the rocketed toward Harry's head. Harry's hand snapped upward, and he caught the stone mere inches away from his face.

The corners of Voldemort's mouth turned upward. No sane person would call the expression a smile.

Harry looked around for a weapon, anything he could use to defend himself. The only thing available was a basilisk fang that had clattered across the floor and come to rest at his feet. Harry picked up the curved tooth and held it out in front of him.

"A basilisk fang, Potter? I might be scared if I had a body." Voldemort waved Harry's wand, and the fang was jerked out of Harry's hands. Voldemort reversed Harry's wand, holding it as if he were prepared to stab the tip downward into Harry's chest. The basilisk fang, still floating in the air, turned its point toward Harry. Voldemort raised and lowered Harry's wand experimentally, and the basilisk fang matched the movement identically, slicing through the air.

"That fang cannot touch me," Voldemort said. "You, however…"

*!*!*

The spirit of Voldemort stalked through the Chamber of Secrets, basilisk fang hovering several feet in front of him. "Come out, Potter. Every moment I grow stronger. Your only chance to defeat me is now."

Behind a pillar, Harry gasped for breath. He had been sprinting through the darkness, trying to avoid the deadly touch of the basilisk's fang. Somehow, Harry had managed to elude Voldemort… for now. Bu Harry knew that he couldn't run forever. He was quickly tiring, and with every second, Voldemort grew stronger.

As Voldemort searched near the entrance of the Chamber, Harry snuck through the shadows, moving quietly toward Ginny's body. Harry crept out into the center of the Chamber, carefully keeping the massive body of the basilisk between himself and Voldemort.

Harry cast one final glance around. There was no sign of Voldemort. He had to take his chance. Harry darted to Ginny Weasley's side, and began shaking her shoulders. "Wake up, wake up," he whispered. Harry grabbed the diary from her hands, hoping to break its connection with the girl, but Ginny continued to lay lifeless on the floor of the Chamber. "We have to go!"

"Potter. Are you ready for your death?"

Harry looked up. Voldemort stood a short distance away, eyes blazing with green fire. The basilisk fang hovered between Voldemort and Harry, poised to strike.

Harry scrambled backwards, Tom Riddle's diary in hand. As he crawled, Harry slipped in the blood that was still pouring from the neck of the basilisk. Voldemort strode forward, closing the distance between himself and Harry. Voldemort raised the hand holding Harry's wand, and the basilisk fang rose into the air, as well.

"After I kill you," Voldemort said, "I will hang your corpse from the highest tower in Hogwarts. The world will know that nobody ever defeats Lord Voldemort twice."

_I might be scared if I had a body…_

Of course. He just needed a moment to prepare…

"It's too late for that," Harry said. "I already defeated you twice."

"What?" Voldemort paused, arm raised in the air.

"You mean Ginny didn't tell you everything? Last year, you tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone, and I stopped you. That was the second time I beat you. For being the 'greatest wizard in history,' you sure seem to die a lot." Harry shifted his arms. The attack would come now, and he was ready.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "And now _you_ will die, you insolent boy." Voldemort brought his hand down, and the basilisk fang stabbed toward Harry's heart.

Harry moved quickly. As the fang fell, Harry moved Voldemort's diary in front of his chest, and held it out like a shield. The fang stabbed deep into the diary, and ink began pouring out of the wound. Voldemort screamed, and the diary shook in Harry's hands.

Voldemort raised Harry's wand, trying to draw the fang out of the diary. Harry's hand darted out and caught the fang before it could be pulled away. Voldemort's magic yanked and tugged at the fang, but Harry could feel that each effort was weaker than the last. As Voldemort weakened, Harry began to twist the fang, driving it farther and farther into the diary. Black ink poured out of the diary's wound and over Harry's hands as Voldemort's ghost screamed and struggled.

Finally, Harry drove the fang entirely through the diary. Voldemort's voice fell silent. All the color had drained from the spirit. Voldemort had become insubstantial; Harry's wand, which Voldemort had so easily held only moments before, literally slid through the shade's fingers and dropped to the floor.

"That's three, Voldemort."

With those words, Voldemort's spirit dissipated into the air like a fine mist.

Harry dropped the diary and retrieved his wand. Once his wand was safely in his pocket, Harry staggered toward Ginny Weasley. He fell to his knees just as he reached her side.

Harry shook Ginny's shoulders. "Weasley, wake up. Come on, Weasley." The girl gave no response. "I didn't do all that for fun! Wake up, you stupid Gryffindor, wake up!" Ginny remained silent. Her face was disconcertingly pale.

Harry scooped up Ginny in his arms. "I'm not letting you die here, Weasley." He began walking toward the entrance of the chamber. His steps were unsteady and irregular. The battle with Voldemort had left him physically drained.

The exit to the Chamber was very far away.

Harry stumbled. He caught his balance, took another step. Another. "Help!" Harry was yelling, his voice echoing in the empty Chamber. "Anybody, please help! We're down here! Help!" Harry's voice was almost as weak as his body.

Harry tried to take another step, but he tripped and pitched forward. Ginny's body tumbled from his arms and onto the cold marble floor of the Chamber. Harry took deep, gasping breaths. As he looked down at Ginny, he saw drops of water appear on her face.

Harry hadn't realized that he was crying.

With a sob, Harry collapsed on top of Ginny's body. "I'm sorry. I can't do it. I can't do it alone. I'm so sorry."

A shriek echoed through the chamber. Harry's head jerked upward. Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, was swooping through the air toward Harry and Ginny. The bird landed on the opposite side of Ginny's body.

Fawkes hopped forward, moving closer to Ginny. The phoenix leaned in and looked closely at Ginny's face. Fawkes began to cry quietly, his tears mixing with Harry's on Ginny's cheek.

Harry felt movement under his hand. Harry held his breath, certain that it had been his imagination, but after a moment, he felt it again.

A heartbeat.

Harry reached up and brushed Ginny's hair from her eyes. As he did so, his hand smeared Fawkes' tears across Ginny's forehead. With a massive gasp, Ginny sat up. Her eyes frantically darted around the Chamber, ultimately settling on Harry.

Before she could say anything, Harry dove forward and embraced Ginny. "You're alive!" he repeated, over and over, laughing and cheering. Ginny began crying in great sobs, clutching at Harry's robes.

For the second time in two years, Harry found himself hugging a crying first-year Gryffindor girl. This time, he knew what to do.

Harry hugged back.

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**A/N:** _Big thanks to all my reviewers. I've gotten a couple of guest reviews in the last few weeks, and since I can't reply with a PM, I guess I'll just say "thank you" right here._


	15. Chapter 15

Harry found himself in an odd position—enveloped in a crushing hug from Molly Weasley, a woman he had only met once before. Only inches away was Ron Weasley, similarly crushed by his mother's arms. That wasn't to say that Harry didn't enjoy the hug; physical affection had been rather scarce at the Dursley's, and Harry was beginning to discover that hugs were rather wonderful. But the longer the embrace lasted, the more Harry struggled to breathe.

"Mum, come on," said Ron.

Reluctantly, Mrs. Weasley let go of the boys. The three of them were in Dumbledore's office, along with the rest of the Weasley clan. Ginny was curled in her father's arms, face burrowed into his neck. George and Fred and Percy had their heads in the fire, where they were conversing with Bill and Charlie, letting the older boys know that Ginny was okay.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said quietly, "young Ms. Weasley should visit the hospital wing for a checkup from Madam Pomfrey. Afterwards, you are welcome to come down to the Great Hall for a midnight feast. If William or Charles can manage, they are welcome to visit, as well."

Arthur Weasley nodded. "That sounds like a wonderful idea. Thank you, Albus." Arthur turned to Harry. "And thank you, Harry Potter." It was approximately the thirty-second time that Arthur had thanked Harry. Harry had run out of ways to say, "you're welcome."

Molly began ushering her family out the door. Ron was the last out, closing the door behind them. Harry and Dumbledore alone in the Headmaster's office. There was a brief silence before Dumbledore spoke.

"I am curious to know," Dumbledore said, "exactly how you were able to persuade a basilisk to disobey the Heir of Slytherin."

Before Harry could answer, the door to Dumbledore's office burst open. Lucius Malfoy strode into the room, face full of rage. At his feet was Dobby the house elf, desperately trying to shine Lucius's shoes.

"Dumbledore. You have returned. I would not have thought you to be so brazen as to flout the Board of Governors' suspension."

"Ah, Lucius," said Dumbledore. "The eleven other governors contacted me today. It seems that they wished me to return and resolve the situation with Ms. Weasley. In fact, several of them were under the belief that you had threatened their families prior to the vote on my suspension."

Harry's eyebrows went up.

Behind Mr. Malfoy, Dobby was waving his hands. The elf pointed at the mangled diary that lay on Dumbledore's desk, then at Lucius Malfoy. Dobby pantomimed pulling an item out of a pocket and then handing it over. The elf's actions seemed absurd—could he be suggesting that Lucius Malfoy had given the diary to Ginny Weasley? Harry nodded at the elf, indicating that he understood. Harry caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye—Dumbledore appeared to have nodded, as well.

Dumbledore smiled. "Harry, if you would step outside for a moment, please? Mr. Malfoy and I need to discuss certain matters that I'm certain he would prefer to keep… quiet."

Harry stepped outside Dumbledore's office. He didn't know what to think. He knew that Mr. Malfoy had ancient and powerful magical artifacts at Malfoy Manor, because Mr. Malfoy had sold some to Borgin & Burke's during their trip to Knockturn Alley. But why would Mr. Malfoy have a copy of Lord Voldemort's diary? And why would he have given it to Ginny Weasley, as Dobby had been pantomiming? Besides, Mr. Malfoy never would have had a chance… except at Flourish and Blott's, at the beginning of the year, when he had placed his hands inside Ginny's cauldron.

These thoughts rolled over and over in Harry's head until the door to the headmaster's office opened and Lucius Malfoy stepped out, followed by Dobby. Mr. Malfoy seemed furious, but his face softened slightly when he saw Harry.

"Harry, I am sorry for that display. Dumbledore and I have had our differences in the past, and we will have them again, in the future. Nothing, however, is more important than our students. I am quite glad to see you safe. Having you visit Malfoy Manor was a pleasure last summer; I hope that you will consider visiting again."

"Um, I think I'd like that, sir."

"Good. Dumbledore has informed me that you must remain with your Aunt and Uncle for at least one month. Please inform your guardians that, on the thirty-second day of your holiday, I will personally rescue you from their miserable muggle hovel."

"I won't use quite those words."

Lucius smiled. "I wish you would. I will see you soon, Harry."

As Lucius walked down the hall, Dobby trailing at his heels, Harry called out. "Mr. Malfoy! Wait!" Harry ran down the hall to catch up with Draco's father. "Mr. Malfoy… did you give Voldemort's diary to Ginny Weasley?"

Mr. Malfoy's back went ramrod straight. He spoke without turning around. "Harry, that diary was a dangerous piece of dark magic. Your actions in rescuing Ms. Weasley were nothing sort of exceptional. There are so few pureblood families in England that I would not wish a prominent pureblood family to suffer such a loss." Mr. Malfoy turned and looked at Harry. "Your resourcefulness and cunning are a testament to both you and your Slytherin education."

Harry shrugged. "I was just doing what was right."

Dumbledore's voice came from the office. "Harry, if you would return for just a moment, please?"

Harry gave a small wave to Mr. Malfoy and walked back into Dumbledore's office. It had not escaped Harry's notice that Mr. Malfoy had failed to answer his question.

Once the door to the office was shut and Harry was again seated, Dumbledore spoke. "Now, you were just about to tell me how you were able to persuade a basilisk to disobey Salazar Slytherin's last living heir."

Harry winced. In his original telling of the story, it was the one point where he had glossed over the details. Dumbledore, of course, had noticed immediately.

"I told the snake to stop, because I was in Slytherin house. I said that I, too, was an heir of Slytherin's spirit. Voldemort kept insisting that the snake obey him, saying that he was the blood of Slytherin. The basilisk was about to attack, but then I remembered our conversation from earlier this year, the one when I asked if there was a part of Voldemort's magic inside me? You said there was."

Dumbledore nodded slowly.

"I told the basilisk that I had the blood of Slytherin inside me, and I cut my hand open to show it. Voldemort was still a ghost. He didn't have a body yet, so he didn't have any blood. He had the spirit, but I had the spirit and the blood. The basilisk was convinced by the smell of my blood, and closed its eyes for me. Voldemort was really angry, so he used my wand to cut off the basilisk's head. That's all there was to it."

Dumbledore was quiet for a long moment. "Harry, the basilisk is the King of Serpents. For a basilisk to close its eyes is a sign of great subservience. But that is not the only extraordinary thing to happen in the Chamber." Dumbledore nodded at Fawkes in the corner of the room. "You must have shown real loyalty to me in your battle with Voldemort. Nothing else would have called Fawkes to you."

Harry shrugged. "I told Voldemort that you were a greater wizard than him. That he was scared of you, and that's why he framed Hagrid for opening the Chamber fifty years ago. If he wasn't scared, he wouldn't have needed a scapegoat." Harry smiled a little. "Voldemort didn't like hearing that."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I expect not. That took great courage, Harry."

Harry sighed. "Sometimes I do feel like I should have been sorted into Gryffindor," he said.

"In another lifetime, perhaps," said Dumbledore. "You do have many of the qualities that Godric Gryffindor would have prized in his hand-picked students. Courage, tenacity, pride, and a certain level of recklessness…"

"So you think I should have been in Gryffindor?"

"No, Harry. You display those qualities, and yet the Sorting Hat placed you in Slytherin. Why is that?"

Harry thought for a moment. "The only reason I'm in Slytherin is because I asked the Sorting Hat—"

"Exactly. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities. In the Chamber of Secrets, you accepted a great burden. You accepted that your life is inextricably intertwined with Voldemort's. You not only accepted that you are a Slytherin, but you declared yourself to be Salazar Slytherin's rightful heir. And a basilisk _acknowledged your claim_, Harry. The King of Serpents bowed to you. Nobody but a true Slytherin would have thought to take that course of action, and nobody but a true Slytherin could have survived it."

Harry felt as if an icy hand had grabbed his heart. Although Dumbledore meant his words to be reassuring, Harry was suddenly reminded of Voldemort's comparison of himself to Harry.

Dumbledore sensed the change in Harry's mood. "Perhaps you would like to return to your dormitory to wash up, Harry. You deserve a few moments of privacy, but please do join us at the midnight feast. I rather think you will be the guest of honor."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said.

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "Of course."

*!*!*!*

Harry lay on his bed in the dark. The snores of Crabbe and Goyle echoed through the Slytherin boys' dormitory. Otherwise, the school was silent around him.

The feast had been magnificent. Seven Weasleys had been seated at the Gryffindor table, surrounding Ginny on all sides. Midway through the feast, Hermione Granger burst into the hall, freshly un-petrified by Professor Sprout's mandrakes. She nearly tackled Ron, shouting "You solved it! You solved it!"

Dumbledore again awarded a Harry and Ron an enormous amount of points for their heroism. In the House Cup competition, Slytherin and Gryffindor leapt ahead of the other houses. Slytherin still had a comfortable lead for the house cup, based largely on their quidditch victory over Gryffindor earlier in the year. Severus Snape, re-enervated by Dumbledore himself, smirked at McGonagall. McGonagall did not smile back, and instead focused on her pudding.

Gilderoy Lockhart was not in attendance. He was up in the hospital wing, his mind a complete muddled mess. The backfired memory charm had erased nearly every memory he had, even the memory that magic was real. Harry could think of few things that would be more horrible.

As the night crept closer to dawn, Hagrid charged into the Great Hall. He immediately found Harry and enveloped him in an enormous hug. "Thank yeh, Harry. I always knew you were a good 'un."

After Harry was released, he turned to Draco. "I told you so," said Harry. Draco sniffed and looked away.

Later, after the feast had ended, the students returned to their beds. The train trip home had been cancelled, but so had classes. Everybody was looking forward to taking extra, lazy hours to sleep late into the morning.

But in the dark that preceded dawn, Harry Potter was unable to sleep.

Nervous thoughts tumbled through Harry's head. Had Lucius Malfoy actually meant to hurt Ginny Weasley by giving her the diary? Maybe Mr. Malfoy didn't realize how dangerous it was. But there had to be a reason to give the diary to Ginny. And if there was a reason, it could only have been because Mr. Malfoy was trying cause Ginny some sort of harm, or get her into some kind of trouble. Which suggested that Mr. Malfoy knew something of the diary's power, or its origins, and realized that it could be dangerous.

If Mr. Malfoy gave the diary to Ginny, he knew exactly what he was doing.

Harry struggled to reconcile this new understanding of Mr. Malfoy with his memory of the man who had embraced him like a son. Mr. Malfoy had helped Harry onto the Hogwarts Express. He had been so proud when both Harry and Draco were sorted into Slytherin. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had given Harry a beautiful scarf and gloves for Christmas the previous year—among the first presents that Harry had ever received. Mr. Malfoy had rescued Harry from Privet Drive the previous summer and had finally given Vernon Dursley his comeuppance. Mr. Malfoy bought Harry his first broom.

Harry couldn't believe that Lucius Malfoy was some sort of evil child killer. There had to be some explanation for his actions that Harry simply couldn't understand. Harry was determined to discover why Mr. Malfoy would give Ginny Weasley the diary, and he planned to get his answers that summer at Malfoy Manor.

* * *

**A/N:** _And that's it for Book Two! Next week, I will begin posting Harry Potter and the Dementors of Azkaban. (Not the most original title. I know.) Now is your chance to favorite me as an author, to get the automatic update! I'll also post a teaser chapter in this story, to remind everybody to switch over._

_Additionally, this week I received an offer to have my fic translated into Chinese. Neat! And on that note, i__f anybody else has any ideas to help me increase the distribution of this fic, please let me know._


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin_ is complete! Today begins the next chapter in our tale, _Harry Potter and the Dementors of Azkaban. _Click through my profile to get there!_

_And if you just can't wait, here's a preview of the first few pages of Chapter 1._

* * *

Harry awoke disoriented, unfamiliar with his surroundings. After thrashing about in bed, the events of the previous night came back to him in a rush: blowing up his Aunt Marge, being stalked by an enormous black dog, escaping on the Knight Bus, and meeting the Minister of Magic in Diagon Alley outside…

The Leaky Cauldron. That's where he was. Harry relaxed slightly. Even though he had just performed underage magic, and even though he had just run away from his (ostensible) home, Harry felt relieved. His feet were light as he got dressed. A quick trip to Gringott's would give him enough money to finish the week at the Leaky Cauldron. By that time, he should receive his second notice of underage magic usage, and he would need to secure a solicitor to fight against his expulsion from Hogwarts.

Harry had promised the Minister that he wouldn't leave Diagon Alley, but it was an easy promise to make. Harry had no plans of returning to the Muggle world any time soon.

Stepping outside the Leaky Cauldron, Harry found himself in the midst of magical London's most popular shopping district. Diagon Alley held a special place in Harry's heart, as it was the first place that Harry had truly entered the magical world. Hagrid had purchased Harry's owl, Hedwig, during Harry's first trip to Diagon Alley. Harry met his closest friend, Draco Malfoy, in Diagon Alley. Later, Draco's father Lucius bought Harry his first broom at Quality Quidditch Supplies in Diagon Alley.

For Harry, a trip to Diagon Alley meant leaving the Dursleys and returning to the magical world. His world. His parents' world, before they died.

Harry's trip to Gringott's was uneventful. As always, the goblins were curt and grouchy, but they did give Harry a limited amount of respect. Partly for his status as The Boy Who Lived, and partly for his status as the heir to an enormously well-stocked vault. Harry had a feeling that, unlike everybody else in the wizarding world, the goblins respected him more for his vault than for his scar. It was refreshing to be treated just like any other (enormously rich) wizard would be.

He left the bank with pockets full, but stomach empty. He decided to stop back at the Leaky Cauldron to pay for his room and eat breakfast. Harry approached the innkeeper, but was told that his room had already been paid for.

"Already paid? By who?"

A voice spoke from behind Harry. "By me."

Harry turned and saw Lucius Malfoy approaching from across the dining room. "Minister Fudge contacted me this morning. Couldn't stand another day with those muggles, Harry?"

Harry smiled. "You've met my Uncle. Would you want to?"

Lucius nodded. "Quite right, quite right."

Before Harry could say anything else, his stomach rumbled.

"Why don't we have breakfast," suggested Mr. Malfoy. "You can tell me why you left while we eat."

Several minutes later, Harry found an enormous stack of pancakes sitting before him. Mr. Malfoy had selected a large plate of fresh tropical fruits, most of which Harry failed to recognize.

"So, Harry… why last night? Your trip to Malfoy Manor was only a week away."

Harry looked down at his lap. "I blew up my Aunt Maude."

Lucius's raised his eyebrows. "Blew her up, Harry?"

Harry's voice was quiet. "She was saying the worst things about my mother and father. I couldn't stand to hear it. It's been years since I did accidental magic, but I just couldn't control myself. I blew her up like a balloon and she floated out of the house and down the street." Harry took a deep breath. "It won't be long until I get my second notice for underage magic. If you could recommend a good solicitor, I'll need it, or else I'll be expelled from Hogwarts."

Lucius burst out laughing. "Harry, please don't sound so despondent. People don't get underage magic notices for accidental magic."

"But last year…"

Lucius held up a hand. "More importantly, Harry, is that YOU don't get underage magic notices for accidental magic. I will speak to Minister Fudge and inform him of the circumstances. Exceptions can be made, and one can certainly be made for Harry Potter, a dear friend of the Malfoy family."

Harry smiled. "You really think so?"

"Of course. Even if your second notice has already been drafted… well. Documents are lost so frequently in the vast bureaucracy of the Ministry of Magic. I wouldn't be surprised if your notice were to be similarly lost." Lucius carefully cut a piece of fruit on his plate. "Never forget, Harry, that the advantages of being in Slytherin last long beyond your years at Hogwarts."


End file.
